


Of Sanity and Sin

by TheWritingRaccoon158



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi's the prison's psychologist, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore and Violence, But the IwaOi's endgame, Datekou's players have a cameo, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Iwa's a warden, Kuroo's his co-worker, M/M, Really foul language watch out peeps, Recreational Drug Use, Serial Killers, The AkaIwa's too hot to not let them flirt a bit sorry, alcohol drinking, and Oikawa's a serial killer, and please don't kick me out of the fandom, sounds like a pretty fun ride tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingRaccoon158/pseuds/TheWritingRaccoon158
Summary: "He will choose you, disarm you with his words, and control you with this presence. He will delight you with his wit and his plans. He will show you a good time, but you will always get the bill. He will smile and deceive you, and he will scare you with this eyes. And when he is through with you, and hewillbe through with you, he will desert you and take with him your innocence and your pride. You will be left much sadder but not a lot wiser, and for a long time you will wonder what happened and what you did wrong. And if another of his kind comes knocking at your door, will you open it?"- From an essay signed, “A psychopath in prison.”Aka the IwaOi prison/psychopath/serial killer/sappy love story AU I had to write because my head won't stop telling me to do so...![on hold until Racoon-san get's her shit together]





	1. 306

**Author's Note:**

> Dear NSA I swear I was only googling ‘structure of a high-security prison’ because of research purposes!  
> It’s not like I dont have to do anything else besides writing… But I quit my job recently (´∇ﾉ｀*)ノ, and from October on I’ll be a university student, and I want to use the time in between to write as much as I can.  
> Heavily inspired by [this](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/119730.Without_Conscience), and my accumulated superficial knowledge about serial killers (ahem) and phorensics. There will be citations and remarks throughout the story.  
> It's my first time writing IwaOi, and I don't know if my characterization is spot-on, but please bear with me for now 」(￣▽￣」)  
> Please enjoy and comment, I really appreciate feedback!

That Hajime would become a guard in his hometown’s high-security prison was something neither he nor his parents or friends had expected during most of his life.

The fact that Hajime wanted to do something where his athletic physique would benefit him was clear – but a prison guard? His mother didn’t talk to him for a full week, and _that_ had probably never happened before.

Not that Hajime couldn’t understand her worries, now that he stood here, right in the middle of what where approximately three hundred dangerous criminals, each sentenced for crimes one could merely imagine. Robbery, murder, blackmail and rape were only the tip of the iceberg, and Hajime wondered if he would ever get accustomed to the bestiality that surrounded him.

“They smell fear”, the man next to him cooed eerily, and Hajime cocked an eyebrow.

“They’re not dogs”, he replied smoothly, nonetheless fiddling with his baton that was attached to his belt.

“Yeah but they know guards as well as we know their kind”, the man remarked, and Hajime remained silent.

The man’s name was Kuroo, was his roommate for a year during college, and he had been the one recommending Hajime to his superiors in the first place. He was tall, muscular, and still Hajime believed if Kuroo would ever visit his mom she would put him in a headlock and strangle him to death. “Come on, I show you ‘round.”

The guards worked in shifts, and this week Hajime had the morning shift, to settle in and to acquaint himself with how a high-security guard operates. He had been the local police station’s maid-of-all-work after he’d dropped out of college unceremoniously four years prior, and even though he knew that the whole academic life wasn’t his cup of tea he regretted throwing a big part of his life away just because he hadn't had the strength to get his shit together.

Well, hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, he was here now, ready to learn whatever he needed to learn to not get killed while he was still a newbie – or fucked, whatever came first.

“Seijou was supposed be a star-shaped prison”, Kuroo explained like he was reciting out of a textbook while he lead Hajime through the hallways, crudely drawing the shape of a star into the air. “Err, you know? Maybe more like those asterisk-symbols - with the guard's office in the middle, and the arms stretch out like a star. But there wasn’t enough money to finish the project, and now there’re only three arms… If you were wondering about the weird layout.”

“Not really”, Hajime gave back, occasionally peeking down to let his gaze wander over the block below, where a few prisoners had bunched up in front of their cells to hopefully not start a hassle.

“Hm, you’re pretty uptight”, Kuroo said, glancing backwards briefly, showing Hajime his dark, squinnied eyes.

“Didn’t know I’m supposed to be all happy about standing in the middle of some fucked-up loonies.”

“They’re not all that bad”, Kuroo retorted, turning around. “Most of them are pretty okay.”

“Yeah, besides the murdering and raping ‘n such”, Hajime said, and Kuroo showed him a smirk.

“You’ll be assigned to Block A”, Kuroo said after he had continued his walk towards the guard's office. “Shouldn’t be that bad for now, those guys’re just the usual thieves and robbers, and the ones in pretrial imprisonment.”

“Pre… what?”

“ _Pre-trial_ ”, Kuroo repeated, and Hajime nodded. “They’re here temporarily, and Seijou’s psychologist is here to assess whether they’re criminally liable or they’re just nuts.”

“By the sound of your bright vocabulary I’d guess you should've gotten your degree.”

Kuroo waved his hand, feigning embarrassment. It was true, both of them dropped out of college before graduation, Hajime earlier than Kuroo, the result of their mutual laziness now bright and colorful right before their eyes. “You should see the psychologist”, Kuroo said, eyes heavy with implication, “His name’s Akaashi-san, and he’s outright gorgeous.”

“I’m eager to meet him”, Hajime responded, casually scanning the area for any irregularities, but most of the prisoners sat in their cells, slowly but surely melting away in the summer heat the thick building’s walls weren’t quite able to keep out.

“Come on, relax a bit, won't you?”, Kuroo said when he noticed Hajime’s tensed stance. “It’s your first day here, no one’s gonna blame you for starting off slow.”

“Rather be careful”, Iwa said lowly, eyes down one of the star’s arms, entitled with a broad ‘Block A’-sign.

“Fine”, Kuroo sighed after a moment, “You should walk a bit, get familiar with the layout, see where the cameras are… I’ll be in the office, if you need me.”

Hajime nodded and bid Kuroo farewell, and watched his friend until he was out of sight. Kuroo was okay, sometimes, a bit too straightforward occasionally, but Hajime liked sharing a room with the tall, confident guy that just recently went out of his way to get Hajime this job, and Hajime guessed that he _should_ be grateful for the opportunity, the least.

Hajime strolled down the aisle, trying to recall what he had seen on one of the prison’s evacuation plans. The three arms of the star were filled with tiny cells, for one or two prisoners each, two floors high, and on each end there were showers and toilets. Each arm led to a different courtyard, whereby the maximum security wing hadn't had any yard, for obvious reasons.

From Block A and B one could reach the dining hall and the workplaces the prisoners could visit to earn a few coins or sharpen their skills for their time after imprisonment. The guard's office overlooked it all, located on the second floor in the middle of the three-armed star, and literally no nook or cranny could be hidden before the guard's eyes.

Two weeks into his new work Hajime got pretty accustomed to the way thinks worked around here. Even though there was the usual hassle one or two times a week the job was mostly boring. At six in the morning the prisoners were woken up, had half an hour time to use the showers, then there was breakfast until ten. From then to two in the afternoon they were supposed to visit their work places, and for now Hajime had only seen the garage, the kitchen, and the laundry,  the latter apparently being the most hated place to work at. He was told that sometimes a lecturer from the local university visited the prison, to teach the inmates a bit about language, mathematics, physics or whatever the prison’s administration thought fit. They even let the inmates paint pretty pictures, and Hajime could only guess that this was something like a weird experiment about weirdos drawing weirdo-stuff to use for some academic study. Hajime was no idiot at all, in fact he had always been told that he had the talents and brains to maybe earn a pretty decent degree, but the prison’s inmates were not his kind to deal with. He believed, treating them like decent human beings would only cause attachment, and attachment would only lead to trouble.

And trouble was the last thing Hajime wanted, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)!


	2. 291

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: Akaashi, the temptress, and Oikawa, the dumbass ੧| ‾́ 〜 ‾́ |੭

Hajime strolled down the A Block, when a low, whistled song caught his ears. He peeked sideways, where a prisoner sat in the shadows of his cell, on the bed situated right below the window, likely to hide before the summer sun’s heat. When Hajime stepped right in front of the whistler’s cell the tune stopped, and some rustling could be heard.

“Hey, you there!”, a smooth voice said, and Hajime was intrigued to just walk past the cell and continue his stroll. “Stop – hey, don’t walk away, it’s so booring in here.”

“Then why don’t you go out? The yard’s open.” Hajime briefly glanced sideways, where a guy came out of the shadows, a tiny bit taller than Hajime, with chocolate brown hair and intriguing facial features. Only the whistler’s eyes, dark, _taxing_ made Haijme’s body tense subconsciously.

“Oh, and who might you be?”, the whistler said, smirking cockily through his cell’s bars. Hajime stood silent for a second, tried to assess if the other one would even be worth the hassle.

“Iwaizumi”, he eventually told, “your block’s new guard.”

“Oh”, the other one said, and his mouth turned once again into a pesky little smirk. “So there actually _are_ good-looking guards out there!”

Hajime cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you want?”, he asked, as neutral as possible.

“A lot of things”, the inmate answered, and Hajime refrained himself from rolling his eyeballs. “You could… keep me company, for starters.”

Hajime let out a puff. “As if.” He started walking away, and the inmate tried to reach for his sleeve, missing it my mere inches.

“Ahhw, don’t be mean, talk to me, Iwa-chan!” The inmate showed Hajime a wide grin, and even if Hajime knew very well to not meddle with the prisoners he turned around regardless.

“Don’t call me that”, he demanded, staring at the inmate who still grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“Why not?”, the inmate asked innocently, letting his arms hang lazily through the steel bars. “It suit’s you, and I’d like us to be friends.”

This time Hajime rolled his eyeballs, turned around and walked away.

“W-wait, Iwa-chan!”, the inmate exclaimed, sounding more like a petulant kid than a grown-up. “That’s so mean, please come back here!”

Hajime ignored the weeping prisoner and walked back up the stairs, checking a few other cells before walking back to the guard's office. There, another unknown face awaited him, briefly peeking up from his paperwork to greet Hajime with a nod.

“You must be the newest guard”, the man said, with a silken, calm voice, and when Hajime was able to scan his face properly he could nothing but think that the other one was drop-dead-gorgeous.

“And you’re Akaashi-san”, Hajime said, remembering Kuroo’s constant swooning about Seijou’s head psychologist. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“No, it’s entirely my pleasure”, Akaashi responded politely, bowing down a bit, and Hajime felt a mild blush creep into his eartips. He turned around, looked out the window down to where he had been talking with the weird, whistling inmate, and Akaashi seemed to follow his gaze.

“You’ve already familiarized with our most recent problem patient”, Akaashi remarked, gaze turning towards his paperwork while Hajime cocked his head sideways a bit.

“Yeah”, the guard said, blowing out a breath through his nose. “He’s an asshole.”

“I wouldn’t express it so blatantly, but yes, he’s… pretty exhausting to deal with.” Hajime peeked briefly at the beautiful doctor, saw his perfect, pointy nose and his full, pinkish lips, how his dark hair curled in his neck… Hajime remembered Kuroo saying that no inmate was able to withstand Akaashi’s charm, and Kuroo was probably right; if Hajime would be a prisoner himself he would probably tell Akaashi literally everything, even lies, just to see a pleased expression running through his gorgeous features.

“Do you know his name?” Hajime cringed. Of course Seijou’s doctor would know his patient’s names. But apparently Akaashi chose to ignore it.

“Oikawa. Tooru”, he said, not looking up from his paperwork. “I’m surprised he hadn't told you by himself. He’s… pretty vocal, to say the least.”

“Not if you choose to ignore him”, Hajime replied. Akaashi looked up, showing Hajime a somewhat pained smile, and the guard guessed that Akaashi might maybe the one who had to endure the prisoner’s blabbering the most. “Why’s he here?”

A serious expression crept back into Akaashi’s fine features, turning around to stare into the direction where Oikawa’s cell was located. “For murder.”

“He? Sure doesn’t look like one”, Hajime remarked, remembering Oikawa’s doe-like eyes and his childish demeanor. “A murderer I mean.”

“They hardly never look like murderers”, Akaashi responded, puffing out a breath through his nose. “Oikawa’s a serial killer, accused for killing eleven men in a stretch of six months. He almost instantly confessed when he had been caught, but from there on he spoke no more word about his crimes. And this is where I come in.”

“To… make what?”

Akaashi gave Hajime a fond smile that made the guard's cheeks fill with heat. “To figure out if he’s insane and therefore not to blame for his actions, or if he’s indeed sane as you and me. The latter would get him the death sentence.”

“So… being called insane’s not so bad at all…”, Hajime mumbled, deciding to reconsider his way of judging people at first sight.

Akaashi scribbled something onto his notebook, the he collected his belongings while Hajime watched the monitoring screens to pull his gaze away from the doctor’s long, deft fingers. Akaashi gave Hajime a smile.

“Come by my office later, if you like”, the pretty doctor said, slowly walking past Hajime and out of the office. “I’d like to get to know you a bit.”

“Yeah, sure”, Hajime said weakly, and with another pretty smile Akaashi walked out the door and out of Hajime’s sight.


	3. 290

Talking with Akaashi had been… pretty interesting. When the psychologist seemed as if he had been flirting with Hajime earlier there was no implication of fondness when they’d met for a cup of coffee in Akaashi’s office. They exchanged numbers to talk about inmates whenever Hajime wanted to know something, and then Hajime bid him farewell to think a bit more about the enticing doctor on his way to his pitiful apartment downtown.

The following day started with a huge fight between two inmates, and Hajime had to separate them with a few other guards, and by now, having courtyard duty in the fucking midday heat he was kinda stressed out, his brain and antsy limbs yearning for some kind of outlet. And, even though Hajime wasn’t very delighted that he could never really quit this unhealthy habit, he couldn’t keep himself from smoking one of the cigarettes he had stored deep down his locker, and Kuroo the asshole even had the guts to bum one from Hajime.

“Hadn't seen you smoke since college”, Kuroo said, breathing out a thick cloud of greyish smoke, with the other hand in his pocket, “Now that I said it, I hadn't seen _you_ since college.”

“Should’ve kept in touch”, Hajime stated hollowly, holding in the smoke afterwards, letting it flow through his lungs and up his throat, breathing out with his eyes closed.

“That fuckers’re gonna have a bad time in maximum security”, Kuroo said eventually, and Hajime understood that he was talking about the ruckus earlier that day.

“What’s going to happen there, anyways?”, he asked, and waited silently for Kuroo to take another pull from his cigarette.

“Dunno”, Kuroo said, brushing his messy hair away from his sweaty forehead, and for once Hajime thanked his mother for always forcing her son to keep his hair short. “Hadn't asked anyone, but they always come back pretty rueful, so I guess they won't be very gentle with ‘em.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Nah”, Kuroo said, briefly glancing around, “It’s just a job, you know? I don’t wanna deal with all this fucked-up shit.”

Hajime stood silent, felt his nerves steadying bit by bit, when Kuroo suddenly nudged his shoulder.

“Hey, you’ve met him yet?”, he asked, pointing at something next to the entrance. Hajime needed a moment to identify who Kuroo was pointing at, but then he recognized a chocolate brown bunch of hair, belonging to a pretty guy talking to some other inmates.

“You mean, uhm… Oikawa?”, Hajime responded, remembering the inmates name.

“Yeah”, Kuroo said, stubbing out his cigarette with his foot. “Have you heard what he’d done?”

“Akaashi-san told me about it”, Hajime said, and Kuroo cocked an eyebrow.

“You’ve talked to Akaashi?”, Kuroo asked, waggling his eyebrows, but Hajime decided to ignore the implication. “Anyways. Oikawa, he’s _crazy_ , but… kinda gorgeous crazy, innit?”

Hajime definitely didn’t want to deepen _this_ topic, too, taking a last pull from his cigarette and throwing it into the ashtray behind.

“I mean, look at him”, Kuroo said nonetheless, and when Hajime did as he was told he saw Oikawa’s back turned towards them, one knee slightly bent and with his hands in his slacks’ pockets. “Look, man, see his hips? They’re so –“ He shaped a circle with his hands. “I’m serious, that’s a fine ass, damn…”

“Kuroo…”

“What?”, Kuroo said, holding his hands up in defense. “I’m just telling facts.”

A thought ran through Hajime’s mind, and before he knew it stumbled out of his mouth. “Have you ever…? You know.”

“What?”, Kuroo asked, and Hajime couldn’t believe that his former roommate made him say it.

“Did… _the Do?_ I mean, with one of the inmates.”

Kuroo cocked an eyebrow. “No I don’t!”, he gasped, clutching his uniform above his heart, “God forbid, what kinda creep do you take me for?”

“Well, have you?”, Hajime asked once again, smirking when he saw Kuroo’s exasperated glance.

“No, you – it’s prohibited to fuck with inmates.”

Hajime snorted out air through his nose. “You don’t seem like the type o’ guy to not do something just because it’s prohibited.”

Kuroo’s features relaxed visibly, and after a moment he showed Hajime a acknowledging look.

“Yeah, sure”, the taller guard said, “Though I’d really like to… I’m kinda on a dry run since ages…”

Kuroo brushed his hand over his neck when something seemed to catch his sight. He nodded frontward, and Hajime saw that Oikawa was heading their way, as if the pretty brunet had just heard them talk about him. Hajime fiddled another cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and blew out a smoke cloud into the direction from where Oikawa approached him. The brunet walked straight through it, and Hajime noticed delightfully that he scrunched his nose in disgust.

“You really shouldn’t smoke”, Oikawa rebuked, frowning, and Hajime took his time to blow out another long, thick cloud of smelly air.

“Why?”, the guard said, absently noting that Kuroo took a step back, suddenly very interested with something on the other side of the yard. “Is it bad for my skin?”

“Yeah, that too”, Oikawa answered, fawning away the smoke and approaching Hajime even further, up until a point where they were an arm’s reach away from each other. “And, what’s more important, I don’t like kissing smokers.”

Hajime tried to suppress a flinch, hearing this, but could do nothing about the way his heart leapt against his chest’s inside.

“Then, don’t do it.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, asshole.”

“Oi, are guards supposed to talk like this? And, besides…” Oikawa shot Hajime a seductive smirk, and seemed to ponder whether to touch the guard's uniform, even though he most definitely knew that this would lead to broken fingers. Instead, he leaned forward, hands behind his back. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want it.”

Hajime took another pull from his cigarette, and blew it straight into Oikawa’s face, suppressing a pleased grin when Oikawa looked as if someone had just spat at him.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”, Hajime asked, frowning, not even remotely believing that he would get a reasonable answer.

“Nothing’s wrong with me”, Oikawa said, reconsidering his answer immediately. “Well, besides the obvious, I mean. I just came to like you, Iwa-chan.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

Oikawa waited for Hajime to toss his cigarette into the ashtray, then he tried his luck again and leaned forward, almost letting their noses touch.

“… make me.” Oikawa’s sultry voice, compared with the testing look he gave Hajime made something inside the guard's guts tighten, and Hajime had to keep himself from coughing up an ill-considered response. Apparently, talking with Oikawa was like trying to redraw Da Vinci’s ceiling fresco in the Sistine Chapel with a Q-tip: strenuous, utterly stupid and entirely useless to even begin with. “I’d like to ask only one thing”, Oikawa said lowly, and Hajime could feel the teasing brunet’s voice right inside his cerebellum, “Meet me in the laundry, at eight, Thursday night.”

“Why should I do that?”, Hajime said when Oikawa backed off, ready to turn away and leave Hajime’s vicinity. Oikawa turned around once again, hands already stuffed back into his pockets, and Hajime noticed the way the tight, orange prison slacks span over Oikawa’s ass, admitting that Kuroo had had a point. Quickly drawing back his gaze to not get caught gawking he saw a faint glint in Oikawa’s eyes.

“Well, why should you not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like, come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)! (not pretty much going on there by now, but everyone has to start somewhere, innit?)


	4. 286

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wild ride begins “ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Hajime hadn't given the proposition of meeting Oikawa in the laundry a second thought, up until the point Akaashi got Hajime’s weekly report between his fingers and had called the guard to explain it ‘could be worth it’ listening to Oikawa, whatever the inmate wanted to tell Iwaizumi.

“He’s quite fond of you, I’d assume”, Akaashi’s voice came crackling through the speaker, and Hajime had to take a deep breath to not decline the doctor’s request immediately.

“He’ll just pull up some weird shit”, Hajime said, wishing that he could take back the swearing. “I’d rather not go.”

“Iwaizumi-san”, Akaashi said, and the way he said Hajime’s name felt like the verbal adequate of a warm shower. “Oikawa tried to tease a lot of guards, but he never proposed to _meet_ one of them. We’re truly lacking information in his case, and you would do me a personal favor in finding out what he has to say.”

 _A – A personal… Ah, fuck it_.

 “…Fine”, Hajime snorted, wondering how the doctor was even able to fucking convince him of doing so, just by the use of his excruciatingly beautiful voice.

“That’s great, Hajime”, Akaashi cooed, and Hajime could hear the clinking of porcelain in the background. “Come meet me in my office afterwards, we can talk about what you found out.”

Hajime ended the call, and fell face-forward into his bedsheets. What the fuck was it that Akaashi was so appealing that even the hard-headed Iwaizumi went out of his way to help him?

 

*

 

Thursday evening, at exactly eight o’clock, Hajime snuck out of the guard's office, passing by Kuroo and telling his colleague that he would take a walk through the workstations to check them for anything unusual.

By now Hajime knew that some inmates used the turmoil during shift changes around eight to illegally meet each other in the less frequented places, trading drugs, contraband, porn, whatever they can lay their hands on. Doing an inspection round by now wasn’t quite a conspicuous thing to do, but Hajime double-checked if anyone was following him. Since Akaashi was probably one of only few who knew about Hajime’s nightly meeting with an inmate he’d rather not give the false impression of a guard mingling with the prisoners.

When he walked around the corner, down a smaller aisle that lead away from the wide hallway that connected Block B with the workstations he could already see that the laundry was alit, and for a split second he pondered whether to grab for his baton, to be prepared for an possible assault. Oikawa was a convicted murderer, and Hajime tried to not forget this, even though Oikawa hardly looked and acted like a criminal.

“Oh, you’re here!”, Oikawa cooed when Hajime approached him. The brunet was leaning with his back against one of the washing machines, casually, propped on his hands, dressed in only the prison’s orange slacks and a white T-shirt. “Truth be told, I thought you’d chicken out.”

“Why should I?”, Hajime asked, walking past the other washing machines and leaning against one opposite to Oikawa, crossing his muscular arms before his chest. The dark blue uniform truly did its deed underlining Hajime’s trained physique. “It’s not like you’re dangerous or something.”

“I’m not?”, Oikawa asked, cocking an eyebrow, briefly waving his hand around as if to say ‘and why am I here, then?’.

“With that build? Please”, Hajime teased, pointing towards Oikawa with a short nod, seriously asking himself if taunting a murderer was a very wise move. “I could crush you with my arms bound.”

“I guess that depends what we’re doing beforehand”, Oikawa said with a sultry voice, smirking, “…with your arms bound.”

Hajime intended to not respond to Oikawa’s shameless flirting, instead the guard coughed slightly, remembering the task Akaashi had given him.

“So… we’re here to talk, or what?”, Hajime asked, frowning, not quite feeling like the right kind of person to interrogate a murderer.

“If you want”, Oikawa said, pulling a loose thread out of his shirt’s seam. “Though I could imagine things much more fun than –“

“Can you – just stop this shit?”, Hajime snapped, and Oikawa flinched visibly. “I’m not here to listen to your crappy pick-up lines, or whatever this is. So talk, or I’ll be gone.”

Oikawa pouted – actually pouted like a twelve year old, then he slid down on the floor, motioning Hajime to sit down, too. “Come, come.”

“ ’m sorry”, Hajime mumbled, sliding down himself and sitting cross-legged before Oikawa. “Talk, or, whatever.”

Why was he even apologizing to a _murderer_? Just because beautiful-as-fuck Akaashi-san had asked him to help? What was it that the doctor had such an influence over Hajime?

“There were… eleven men”, Oikawa said after a short while, looking down on the ground, still fiddling with the loose thread, and Hajime’s ears perked up. “I shot seven, stabbed two, let one drown and pushed one down from a roof. That’s it, I’ve talked about this only once. Though… you can probably read about it in the case files. But, I dunno, I’d wanted to tell you about it, in person. Call it spur of the moment or, something.”

Weren’t it for Oikawa being a convicted criminal this would seem like a nice little campfire, where friends tell creepy stories to scare the shit out of each other.

…With the tiny little difference that what Oikawa told Hajime was indeed a _real_ , pretty fucked-up story.

Hajime didn’t answer, waited tight-lipped for Oikawa to talk further, to delve deeper into _why_ the brunet murdered those men in cold blood.

“They were all part of a local organization, I don’t know if you’ve heard of them”, Oikawa continued, looking at Hajime this time. “Call – _called_ themselves Shiratorizawa, meddled with illegal gambling, extortion, human trafficking ‘n such.”

“I’ve heard about them”, Hajime said, nodding, even though _heard_ might have been a slight understatement. As the local police office’s maid-of-all-work he got quite acquainted with Shiratorizawa, one of the underworld’s biggest assembly of criminals under the guidance of Ushijima Wakatoshi, philanthropic bon vivant by day, scheming madman by night. That the organizations’ lines began to dwindle during the last year had been a lucky circumstance and worrisome development the same.

“You have?”, Oikawa asked, and Hajime nodded.

“I was… employed at the local police station before”, he explained briefly, unwilling to give out more private information than necessary. “Shiratorizawa is quite a big number.”

“ _Was_ ”, Oikawa said lowly, and Hajime lifted an eyebrow in question. “ _Was_ a big number”, Oikawa repeated, and Hajime’s expression remained blank.

“So… you’ve killed them?”, the guard asked, and Oikawa nodded, smirking contentedly.

“Yeah”, he answered, shifting his legs to sit back on his heels, “At least the ones that got a say in their affairs.”

Hajime snorted. “Sorry, but that’s hard to believe”, he said, lightly shaking his head and cocking an eyebrow. “The hell would someone like you be able to overpower Ushijima. The man’s a fucking bear!”

Oikawa smirked, leaning down to crouch towards Hajime like a panther launching an attack, and the guards fingers twitched, ready to grab his baton and beat the shit out of Oikawa.

“Someone like me?”, Oikawa said, stopping his approach before Hajime’s feet, giving out a seductive glance, and Hajime had to remember hard that the gorgeous bastard in front of him was _still_ a dangerous criminal.

“You’re way too soft”, Hajime said, trying to maintain a stern posture. “Squishy, even. Ushijima would’ve crushed you.”

“And yet here I am, and he’s dead”, Oikawa said kinda proudly, only mere inches away from touching Hajime’s lower leg. “Do you want to know how I did it?”

“Not really”, Hajime replied, and Oikawa pulled a sulky face. “Ah, jeez, you’d tell me, anyways. How did you kill him?”

Oikawa leaned back again, butt placed on the floor between his legs, and for half a second Hajime felt outright intimidated by the raw sexuality Oikawa radiated.

“I let him fuck me”, Oikawa said, lowly, with a pleased smile, and Hajime had a hard time to control his pumping heart. “Rode him, like this.” Oikawa slid his hand down his flat stomach, and Hajime gulped. “his cock, hm, so deeeep inside me… and right in the middle of his sweet release, I – _bam_ , shot him straight between his beautiful, dark eyes.”

“You’re fucking disgusting”, Hajime scoffed, and Oikawa let out a chuckle in return.

“It’s not the worst way to die”, Oikawa said, trailing his hand back up, his dark brown eyes taxing Hajime. “Who wouldn’t like to die like this?”

“I’d rather not die at all, thanks”, Hajime said, feeling that he had enough material for a whole week full of nasty nightmares, lifting his suddenly-too-heavy body back up. Oikawa followed, a bit unsteady on his legs.

“Oh, come on, Iwa-chan, don’t leave me yet”, Oikawa cooed, but Hajime turned around anyways. “I wanted to tell you so much more about me.”

“You don’t need to”, Hajime answered, “I can already tell that you’re insane.”

“Oh, that would be pretty convenient”, Oikawa remarked, and Hajime scolded himself for turning around despite knowing better not to. “Because then I won't be sentenced to death.”

“But _that_ would be better for society, though”, Hajime retorted, and saw Oikawa’s upper lip twitch. “And for my nerves, too.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, you like me!” Oikawa approached Hajime once again, and by now the guard was pretty annoyed by the way Oikawa relentlessly tried to intrude his personal bubble.

“No I don’t”, Hajime stated bluntly, turning around without giving Oikawa another chance to rile him up. But the brunet managed to do exactly that, anyways.

“Do you know what they usually do around eight in the laundry?” Oikawa said persistently, and Hajime rolled his eyeballs so hard it hurt. “They fuck, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime’s heart leapt against his chest, and he was glad Oikawa couldn’t see his face when a blush crept into his cheeks. The teasing brunet spoke further, nonetheless.

“Lights on in the laundry at eight means someone’s having their sweet time. Everyone’ll think we did it when they see us walk out of here.” Hajime could hear Oikawa come closer, and his breathing sped up so much he felt almost dizzy. “So… let’s say if it’s decided anyways, then why the hassle?”

Hajime’s throat felt dry the more Oikawa talked, the more he could make out the brunet’s scent. The image of bending Oikawa over one of the washing machines, rip his damn pants off and fuck him raw was burning itself into Hajime’s conscience, when suddenly he felt something tickling him right below his ear, and then he heard Oikawa talk under his breath, lowly, determined.

“Fuck me, Iwa-chan, and give them a reason for gossip.”

Hajime’s breathing skyrocketed when Oikawa slipped his hands around the guard's waist, halfway through unbuckling his belt with his deft fingers – the fingers that had killed Ushijima, had killed another ten men - while humming right beside Hajime’s ear, when suddenly the guard came to his senses and escaped Oikawa’s grasp with a loud groan.

“Like hell I would”, Hajime spat out, sorting his clothes, but Oikawa didn’t seem the slightest bit disappointed, wearing an amused smirk on his face. With a last glance, and the hope that no one had seen them through the CCTV Hajime left, almost _fled_ the laundry, leaving Oikawa to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/) if you like ♡


	5. 272

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm forced to socialize today, so there's just a small update（−＿−；）  
> Have fun, talk to me if you like and tell me what you think so far!

_Psychopathy Checklist – Revised (PCL-R), Hare, 1999_  
_1\. Glib and superficial charm_  
_2\. Grandiose Self-worth_  
_3\. Need for stimulation or proneness to boredom_  
_4\. Pathological lying_  
_5\. Conning and manipulative_  
_6\. Lack of remorse or guilt_  
_7\. Shallow affect_  
_8\. Callousness and lack of empathy_  
_9\. Parasitic lifestyle_  
_10\. Poor behavioral controls_  
_11\. Promiscuous sexual behavior_  
_12\. Early behavior problems_  
_13\. Lack of realistic, long-term goals_  
_14\. Impulsivity_  
_15\. Irresponsibility_  
_16\. Failure to accept responsibility_  
_17\. Short-term marital relationships_  
_18\. Juvenile delinquency_  
_19\. Revocation of condition release_  
_20\. Criminal versatility_

Hajime sighed, felt the slightest hint of pain emitting from the back of his head, pondering over the list Akaashi had given him. He would have worked on it immediately, but Akaashi insisted that he should take it home to think about it, drink a beer or two to relax, and if the doctor said so, Hajime was no one to disagree.  
Sure, he could tick off quite a lot of things, but then, just because he’d talked to Oikawa once or twice he didn’t exactly know the other one, though. Glib and superficial charm… check. Grandiose self-worth – definitively…! Pathological lying… how would I know if he’s lying? Hajime sighed, taking another sip of his beer. Promiscuous sexual behavior? Fuck yeah, to put it lightly… Impulsivity – I guess…?  
Hajime had quite a hard time with the rest of the list, as he didn’t know anything about Oikawa’s earlier life, his youth, or if he was a criminal beforehand. And because their talk in the laundry did such an unwanted turn he wasn’t even able to ask Oikawa about his motives in the first place. About why Oikawa had done all the things, had killed all this men and hadn't hesitated to confess willingly about it. Tossing the list aside with a groan Hajime asked himself why it would even be necessary to know such things from a creep like Oikawa.  
Hajime hadn't talked with the prisoner for two weeks since their meeting in the laundry – not that he would mind much – but even though Hajime should forget the brunet’s tantalizing, dark eyes and his hands reaching around Hajime’s hips he couldn’t seem to get rid of those mental images. Oikawa Tooru was there, right inside his mind, and Hajime wondered if that’s the way Oikawa always wraps others around his fingers.  
If that was the way he had turned on Ushijima so much that the syndicate boss willingly slept with him.  
Reconsidering that Shiratorizawa’s strict boss seemed to have fallen so easily for Oikawa made Hajime feel slightly better, not being the only one entranced by the tempting brunet.  
Hajime remembered it, vividly, the way Oikawa sat and told him about how he had shot Ushijima while getting fucked by him. Did Oikawa had an orgasm? Did he come before Ushijima? How awkward is it to have a very recently deceased men’s dick inside you? _How awkward is it even to imagine the scenery, Hajime?_  
He groaned, a noise he made quite a lot lately, feeling some tight knot inside his guts tugging at his nerves, subtle, unwanted, but it was there, demanding his attention. Hajime let his head fall against the backrest of his couch, snorting angrily. He felt so, so through with all of this, felt his body getting heavier, more nervous, restless, and everything just because of the itchy hotness inside his pants.  
He was about to become such a fucked-up creep, getting a hard-on from those sick fantasies – fantasies about a naked, sweaty Oikawa with half-opened eyes and a hand propped onto another man’s chest to balance himself, fantasies about Ushijima holding the bodily incarnation of men’s (and women's, he guessed) wet dreams above him by the hips, while Oikawa swayed his lithe figure like an exotic dancer. Hajime thought about sensual moaning, choked panting, then about a gun, a bang, and blood, so much blood… Hajime’s hand crept down, under the seam of his shorts, getting a grip around his half-hard cock. He tried to pry his thoughts away from Oikawa, away from his disgusting killing methods, tried to imagine someone else, someone much more –  
_Akaashi._  
Yeah, thinking about Akaashi was sure the better option. Hajime could never tell if the doctor’s subtle flirty attitude was just his way of manipulating the guards to do as he wishes, or if he was really interested in Hajime. But, well, who cares, Hajime right now couldn’t care less about the doctor’s motives, languidly palming his erection, closing his eyes for better hold onto the mental image of Akaashi; his voice, the way he lifts his thin eyebrows, the way his hair curls in his neck, how Hajime would swat the clutter off the doctor’s desk to lift him up by his thighs and fuck him senseless… _Yeah, that’s better_.  
It didn’t need Hajime long to come with a stifled groan, tried to catch as much of his sticky release as he could with his hand to not dirty his pants, and then, sunken in shame and remorse, he left his half-emptied beer and Akaashi’s list in the living room and made his way to take a shower, eager to shower off the icky grease and forget about Oikawa’s wicked grin, at least for a while. 


	6. 270

“M’yeah?”

Hajime’s voice was slurred, not an unimaginable thing when being woken by his noisy phone around four-thirty in the morning, on a day he was supposed to have a single fucking day off from work.

“I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, Iwaizumi-kun”, the chief warden’s voice sneered, not even remotely apologetic, “but there’s an urgent matter that requires your assistance.”

Hajime sat up, palms brushing over his sleepy eyes, faintly noticing the first, dim rays of sunlight falling through the window blinds.

“What is it?”, he murmured, looking for his alarm clock with its convenient backlight, taking a deep breath to not yell into the phone to let him get his well-deserved rest _for fuck’s sake_.

“One of the prisoner’s from pretrial detention has a hearing today”, the other man told, “And he refuses to attend his trial without your accompaniment.”

“My… what? Who’s …”, Hajime was about to ask, confused, with half his mind still somewhere in dreamland, and then it dawned him. “Oikawa, the little fu –“

“Yeah, the very one”, the chief interrupted Hajime’s cursing, and for a tiny moment Hajime contemplated whether to apologize for his early morning’s rudeness. “I’m normally not one to grant those… _individual’s_ any kind of favor, but his case is of urgent matter, as you might know.”

“Fine”, Hajime said, much too tired and annoyed for any kind of protracted argument, already folding back his cozy warm blanket and searching the room for last day’s clothes. He would change into his uniform later anyways, so why the hassle? “When’s the hearing?”

“Around nine”, the chief said, and Hajime flopped back onto his bed, trying to wriggle his foot through his pants’ leg. “But you have to leave here around six, the ride’s about an hour long and –“

“I’m on my way”, Hajime said, suppressing a yawn and ending the call a bit too harshly.

Hajime was a good worker, reliable, strong-willed, always punctual. The chief could handle a bit of unfriendliness. Whether Hajime could handle pain-in-the-ass Oikawa today remained to be seen.

 

*

 

At six o’clock sharp Hajime arrived in front of Oikawa Tooru’s cell, tired but attentive, and the prisoner showed him an impervious expression.

“You’ve asked for my accompaniment?”, Hajime remarked cockily, keeping himself from bowing down in a mocking manor, his mood still influenced from his early morning’s grumpiness. Kuroo, who’s had the night shift with only fifteen minutes left, chuckled quietly.

“Go easy on him”, the taller one said, nonetheless showing Hajime an appreciative smirk. Kuroo was always up for provoking the inmates, but right now he seemed as equally tired as Hajime. “He’s going to be sentenced to death, he’ll get his punishment.”

“Today’s just the first hearing”, Oikawa‘s voice echoed out of the cell, and the prisoner decidedly ignored Hajime altogether and gave Kuroo a poisonous glare. “And I won't be sentenced to death, anyway.”

“Ah, we’ll see”, Kuroo hummed with a nasty grin, and Hajime could not decide whether he was on his fellow guard's side or not. Oikawa was a murderer, yeah, but they were not the ones to openly judge his wrongdoing. After all, Kuroo and him were just two petty, underpaid guards in a high security prison at the arse end of nowhere. “A fucker like you most definitely earns it.”

Hajime was barely able to contain a yelp when Oikawa leapt forward in an instant, palms banging against the cell’s steel bars. The ferocity in his dark brown eyes was outright frightening, like Kuroo had just recklessly dared to taunt a starving panther.

“You should shut the fuck up or –“ Oikawa threatened, showing his pretty, straight line of pearl white teeth, his pointy canines like a wild animal, and for just a moment Hajime could see the other man inside Oikawa, the man that had killed eleven human beings without batting an eyelash, a blunt contrast to the teasing, whiny kid he pretended to be in Hajime’s vicinity.  

Kuroo did a step forward, and Hajime’s hand absentmindedly made its way to his baton, even though he had his doubts that the silly synthetic club would be of any use if Oikawa was just determined enough to choke Kuroo straight through the bars.

“What ‘or’?”, Kuroo provoked, showing his signature grin, stopping just an arm’s reach away from Oikawa. “You’d kill me, too? Wouldn’t be possible when you’re dead, innit?”

“Kuroo, stop it –“, Hajime intervened, but the two men didn’t seem to take him serious.

“And yet it’s such a shame”, Kuroo spoke further, giving Oikawa a threatening grin, “that the crazy ones're always so fuckin’ hot. I’d like you to ride me, just like you did with that Ushijima guy.”

“Come on in then”, Oikawa replied eagerly, stepping back and lifting his arms invitingly, “I’d blow you for free, right now if you want!”

“Oh, what an offer”, Kuroo cooed, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, and Hajime racked his brain about how to diffuse the situation peacefully. “If I hadn't to worry you’d bite my dick off I’d gladly take it.”

Oikawa barked out a laugh.

“Be cautious, guard-chan”, Oikawa sneered, taxing Kuroo, “If I were you I’d rather look back twice during your nightly trips to the pretty doctor’s office.”

Kuroo’s priggish attitude collapsed almost immediately, and Oikawa showed him a winning grin. Hajime meanwhile took the world’s longest breath.

“Fuck you, you little –“, Kuroo snapped, and right before he could reach out for Oikawa Hajime grabbed him by the wrist, awaking him from his blind fury.

“It’s enough”, Hajime said, threatened almost, not even blinking once. “I get that it was maybe a long night, Kuroo, but you should just go home and don’t get provoked by someone like him.”

Hajime tried to maintain his serious posture, knowing that even the slightest bit of weakness in his eyes would be the spark to inflame Kuroo’s anger anew. After what seemed to be a whole fucking rotation of the globe Kuroo’s face loosened, showing Hajime a lopsided grin. He wrangled his arm out of Hajime’s steely grip, running his fingers through his messy hair.

“Whelp, Oikawa, your _sweetheart’s_ here now”, he said, trying visibly to keep his temper at bay, “you two should go and enjoy your date. Could be the last one.”

Kuroo trudged away, hands in his pants’ pockets, and only when the other guard was out of sight Hajime dared to look at Oikawa, who was showing him an almost fraternal expression, as if to say ‘hey, what’s wrong with this guy?’.

“Come on”, Hajime said, rummaging through his pocket until he’d found the electronic key to Oikawa’s cell. “The driver’s waiting for you.”

Oikawa nodded, for once completely out of words, an waited patiently for Hajime to open the cell.

 

*

 

The summer morning’s sunlight fell through the bus’s dirty windows, illuminating Oikawa’s fluffy bun of hair in a way that Hajime was inclined to call beautiful.

“Care to tell me why you’ve asked for me, specifically?”, Hajime asked after a while, waking Oikawa from a shallow slumber. “I was on my day off, you know?”

“I’m sorry”, Oikawa said, giving Hajime an apologetic smile. “I told you, I grew quite fond of you.”

“And that’s why I should accompany you to your trial?” Hajime cocked an eyebrow, and caught himself smirking.

“You may have noticed I’m kind of tense”, Oikawa said, raising his handcuffed arms to let his index finger glide over the wet windowpane, moist from their accumulated heat and the outside’s chilly morning dew, and Hajime watched the movement, let his head rest against his hand’s knuckles. “This hearing’s giving me the creeps.”

Hajime couldn’t quit comprehend why he said his following words. Maybe his brain was still tired, maybe the inappropriate way Kuroo had treated their mutual prisoner got under Hajime’s bones, and he felt the need to compensate for his colleague’s rude demeanor. Or maybe because he’s got the decency of a horny teenager by the sight of gorgeous, crazy brunets. Whatever the reason, Hajime couldn’t get himself to care much, right now.

“What exactly?”, Hajime inquired as genuinely as he could, and Oikawa drew small circular patterns into the windowpane’s moist surface.

“I don’t know”, Oikawa said, hummed almost, frowned just a bit. “Maybe I thought about death a bit too much recently.”

“That doesn’t sound very much like you”, Hajime said, and maybe the heavy tiredness in his bones made him a bit light-headed. “A gloomy topic like this.”

“You don’t even know me”, Oikawa said, pursing his lips, and Hajime couldn’t quite control the smirk crouching into his face. “…Do you want to?”

“What?”

“Get to know me?”

Hajime stared at Oikawa, with half-lidded eyes and the mental stability of a teenager, absently wondering how the other one was able to keep his hair that damn fluffy during his time in prison.

“No thanks”, he finally said with a lopsided grin, and Oikawa smiled so much Hajime could once again see the pearl white teeth behind his blood red lips. “no offense, but you’re –“

“A murderer, yes”, Oikawa said, observing how the window’s moisture began to pool into one larger, single drop on his fingertip, running down over one knuckle, then, slowly, over the second. Hajime didn’t move his eyes away from Oikawa when he drew his finger back, to his lips, and parted them to sink his finger inside, licking off the dew and pulling back out so, so slowly. He could’ve just nipped it off from the side, but sticking his whole, long finger in his mouth was by the far the least appropriate but surely the most indecent solution. Hajime pondered whether Oikawa did this only subconsciously or on purpose. 

“I wanted to say a nuisance”, Hajime said lowly over the sound of his pumping heart, and Oikawa lowered his hands in surprise.

“That’s mean, Iwa-chan”, he cooed playfully, and Hajime turned around to peek at the driver, who was very busy guiding the bus through the lifeless outskirts of the city where Hajime’s family used to live when he was a lot younger. “I can be pretty reasonable, too.”

“And I don’t believe that”, Hajime mocked, yanking his head around when he noticed something familiar down the street, something like a video store, or an arcade that had been there long ago but was gone now like all the things his birth town had rid itself of throughout the years. 

“I remember that place”, Oikawa remarked, nodding in the general direction of where Hajime was looking, too. “I really liked the bright neon sign on the rooftop, before they knocked it down.”

“You’ve lived here?”, Hajime asked, trying to keep his curiosity down, but if Oikawa had noticed his rampant interest he didn’t seem to care very much.

“Yup”, Oikawa said proudly, and Hajime straightened his back just a bit. “My parents still do, down by the convenience store – ah, I guess it’s not one anymore.”

Hajime nodded. “My family used to live here, too, when I was a child.”

“Oh?” Oikawa cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Where?”

“Right by the forest?”, Hajime asked more than he stated, and Oikawa nodded frantically, “You couldn’t miss our house. It was blue, and pretty large. You know that one? By the bridge, the big red I mean, and then you go left –“

“ – left, I know that!”, Oikawa added, smiling, and for half a second Hajime felt like he was back in college, talking to some stranger on some poor little party in one of their dorms. “That was your house?”

“The blue one, with the ivy’s painted on the side, yeah”, Hajime explained, and Oikawa beamed with joy.

“I loved that one as a child!”, he claimed happily, making the handcuffs in his lap clink. “I always wanted to get to know the one who’d painted the ivies.”

“Well, you’ve gotten your wish granted now”, Hajime said, asking himself if he should maybe backpedal a bit.

“Yeah I have”, Oikawa said, smiling tenderly, and beams of sunlight flooded his chocolate brown hair. “So… care to tell me a bit more about young Iwa-chan, the painter?”

“You talk first”, Hajime demanded, and that Oikawa smiled like a kid that got itself trapped in a candy store told Hajime that he was more than obliged to talk about himself for hours, if necessary. “About your childhood, if you don’t mind.” If  Hajime was lucky – and the driver would find the way to the court without major incidents – he would manage to not talk about himself, at all. Luring information out of Oikawa was good, but the less Hajime had to exchange for that, the better.

“Well, okay”, Oikawa said, straightening himself, taking a deep breath as if he was about to tell a hella long, sweeping story. “My name’s Oikawa Tooru, and I was born on the twentieth of July twenty-four years ago…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/), I'd really like to know what you think about the story so far!


	7. 270/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, I wanted to write sooo much more, but, life is like ((*゜Д゜)ゞ”  
> I have to care about my future finances, and running from one public authority to the other is pretty exhausting... (￣ヘ￣､)  
> Whelp, you don't have to listen to my whining, I hope y'all in the US are somewhat safe and secured, with that huge f*cking Hurricane and all that shite...!  
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/) if you like ♡

Oikawa Tooru was the sort of guy that talks with his hands. And eyes. Literally every visible body part, as much as he was able to. Hajime thought it suited him.

He learned that Oikawa was an only child , he was born into a relatively well-off family, had not much living relatives and went to the private grade school just a few streets away from the one Hajime had visited. Oikawa was a happy child even though his parents seemed to have ignored him often, and had argued a lot. Maybe because of that Oikawa took matters into his own hands, took additional classes in literature, English and French when he’d reached middle school. He had a lot of friends, or at least it seemed that way; no one was really close to Oikawa. Meddling with people’s superficial problems was never a thing Oikawa could work with very well.

When Oikawa was eleven his parents got divorced, and the kid remained in his father’s care. They moved out of the city, away to where his paternal grandparents lived, and Oikawa hadn't seen his mother ever again. Quite a lot to cope with for a pre-teenager, but Oikawa never gave his father much to worry about. Not seeing his mother was hard, but the two men got along, and not soon before long the pain and loneliness were gone, and Oikawa continued his life, determined and strong-willed, even without his mother.

The younger Oikawa had a lot of hobbies, such as painting, hiking with his dad, playing Chess and Go against adults, and he gave himself not a single minute doing absolutely nothing. His mind was always busy, always buzzing with ideas and new ways to find the place he truly belonged in life.

But of course a bright mind like Oikawa’s wasn’t solely satisfied with mental exercise.

“I did sports quite a lot when I was in middle school”, he remarked while the bus weaved through the big city’s bustling shopping mile. “Well, until I’d torn my ACL that was.”

“Which sport?”, Hajime asked, and even though he was supposed to keep his curiosity at bay he could do nothing against it. Murderer or not, Oikawa was one of the most interesting people Hajime had ever met.

“Volleyball”, Oikawa said, a bit dreamily, and Hajime had a hard time to not shout at him in surprise.

“Which position?”, Hajime asked, and Oikawa, the clever asshole put one and one together.

“…Setter”, he said hesitatingly, “Don’t tell me… did you play, too?”

Hajime nodded.

“Was the team’s ace through high school”, he said, and Oikawa’s eyes began to figuratively sparkle while his mouth fell open.

“You’re shitting me!”, Oikawa gasped, and Hajime could hear the driver cursing at him, being startled by the prisoner’s sudden outcry.

“No I don’t”, Hajime said, leaning forward a bit, “I quit in college, though.”

“Why? You weren’t good enough?”, Oikawa asked, smirking, and Hajime shook his head slightly.

“I was awesome”, he said with a grin, “but college was hard, and I… why do we even talk about me now?”

“Oh, you’re not comfortable with talking about yourselves?”, Oikawa asked, and Hajime, having a sudden insight that he was supposed to not give out too many private information, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not –“, he began, but Oikawa interrupted him.

“Hey, I won't pry”, he said, and Hajime looked up, straight into Oikawa’s dark brown eyes, “I get that you don’t wanna talk about such things with me.”

Hajime wanted to reply something when the bus came to a halt with screeching tires, the driver telling them that they’ve arrived at the court. Hajime waited until a few guards came out the court’s big swinging doors, guiding a reticent Oikawa out of the bus and into the court hall, flanking him like he was a ticking time bomb, poised to strike out at any given minute.

 _Because he is exactly that_ Hajime thought while he made his way through the swinging doors, too. _Don’t  make the mistake and think about him as anything else._

 

*

 

Later that day, after Oikawa returned from the courtroom Hajime and the other guards escorted him back to the bus. The whole four hours of the hearing Hajime had to wait outside in the hallway, as he wasn’t allowed inside even though he’d really liked to hear more about Oikawa’s crimes. Feeling like a father-to-be waiting for his wife to bear their child he strode down the halls, buying himself some bland coffee from one of the vending machines, sitting down in some waiting room’s uncomfortable chairs, dozing off once or twice until the hearing finally finished.

During the bus ride back to Seijou Oikawa was oddly silent, deep in thoughts, looking out the window without really perceiving his surroundings, and Hajime was quite fine with it. He was in no mood to talk about anything to anyone, but later that day, when he sat on his bed browsing through his phone he wished he’d engaged Oikawa into another talk about their youth. He hated to admit it, hated it so much, but listening to Oikawa’s smooth voice and well-chosen words made something inside Hajime warm up, running through his veins like warmed-up milk with honey.

Hajime nearly yelped when his phone got off, and after a moment of hesitation he took the call, even though the caller was not exactly one he’d wanted to talk right now.

“Hey man”, he said, sounding as neutral as he could manage, “What’s up?”

“Sorry for this morning”, Kuroo’s voice said, jumping straight to the point. “I was so fucking tired, and that assho – Oikawa’s pleased face made me so fucking sick.”

“No need to apologize to me”, Hajime said, brushing his hand through his face, standing up and searching his flat for something to drink. “But that was pretty inappropriate.”

“Inappr – you know what, you’re inappropriate!” Kuroo almost yelled, and Hajime rolled his eyes, knowing his former roommate’s silly antics all too well.

“You know I’m right”, Hajime said, calmly, sipping on some half-full can of beer only to realize that it was stale.

“Yeah, well, maybe I do”, Kuroo said, a bit too jumpy, and Hajime could hear some clattering in the background, “But you should know better than to defend his sick ass.”

“I hadn't defended him”, Hajime responded, giving up his endeavor to find some beverages and leaning with his back against the kitchen’s counter, “I just can’t understand why you’d been so aggressive. There’re a lot of fucker’s –“

“Be-because he’s a psycho!”, Kuroo gasped, “and he’d done things that you don’t even – you know what? Why don’t we settle this like in the old days?”

Hajime grinned.

“Tequila?”

“Tequila.”


	8. 269

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will pick up a bit more pace after this ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ＂

Hajime was in the middle of downing his seventh or eighth glass of tequila when Kuroo came back from the toilet, staggering slightly. He flopped down the rattan sofa, nearly hitting Hajime with his elbow.

“Fuck”, he hissed, closing his eyes for a second, “It’s true what they say. If you go pissing once you do it every five minutes from t-then on.”

“Better than peeing your pants later”, Hajime mumbled, wiping away some leftover lemon juice from his hand. Until now neither of them had addressed the sensible topic considering Kuroo’s demeanor towards Oikawa, and Hajime was surely not the one to break that seal.

Most of the bar’s guests were gone by now, only the two guards as well as an old, drunken creep on the bar were left, and occasionally the waitress sent them an annoyed glare whenever she was forced to bring them yet another drink. Three in the morning on a Tuesday was obviously not the time to get wasted in a suburban town like this.

“I – I apologize for being rude”, Kuroo stumbled suddenly, leaning back against the sofa with a frown, and Hajime could almost see the flickering whirl before Kuroo’s mind’s eye. “But I won't apologize for what I’ve said to h-him.”

“It’s okay to have your opin – opinion” Hajime said as straight as he could, flicking away a salt crystal from his fingertip. “But you should’ve stayed, uhm… _professional_.”

“Look at you, you hippo – hi… hypocrite!”, Kuroo mewled, snapping his finger to gain the waitresses’ attention. “What’s up between you ‘n that fucking Oikawa guy?”

“Nothing”, Hajime said, much too fast, and hoped that drunk Kuroo would maybe ignore the way his voice hitches. “He’s just pretty easy to t-talk with.”

“Oho, _talk_ ”, Kuroo said, waggling his eyebrows, and ordered another two shots of tequila – the last ones for tonight, Hajime swore.

“Yeah, talk, dipshit”, Hajime said, and Kuroo grinned. “I’m not going to get personal with the inmates.”

“Well, I’ve heard you two already got pretty personal”, Kuroo mentioned, and Hajime snapped his head around so fast his vision slurred.

“From who?”, Hajime asked, puffing out a breath through his nose, and Kuroo cackled like a child.

“From no one”, he said, snorting and lifting his hands to keep Hajime from boxing his shoulder. “I just made it up. But your reaction t-tells its own tale.”

“Fuck you”, Hajime murmured, and returned to stare onto the colorful menu that lay on the table, words and letters becoming blurry the more he tried to read them. The waitress came, and placed the shots in front of them, her pretty pink lips curling in disgust – if she’s annoyed from the two drunkards who’re dangerously close to puking all over the table or because of her dwindling sleep time Hajime couldn’t quite tell. He was fucking drunk, and she wasn’t enough his type of woman for him to care too much. Woman nearly never were quite his type, though.

“By the way”, Hajime said, covering the back of his hand in a thin layer of salt. “You and the doctor?”

“What?”, Kuroo asked, obviously faking obliviousness.

“I’ve heard – err, Oikawa mentioned something… you know what I mean.“

“Ah, this”, Kuroo remarked, sighing deeply, “He doesn’t know what he – he’s talking about, okay? Akaashi ‘n me are just friends, and nothing more.” Hajime remains silent, and watched Kuroo spreading the salt on the back of his hand in tiny, circular movements, almost tenderly. “We just play cards, and ramble ‘bout the inmates to kill time. He’s funny if he wants to. As I said, nothin’ more.”

“Is that true?”, Hajime asks, and notices the way Kuroo blushes just the slightest bit, but that could also be imagined, or the result of too much alcohol running through his veins.

“Yeah”, Kuroo yelped, and nearly spilled his drink when he tried to grab it. “Come on, believe me, would ya?”

Hajime grumbled, taking his own tequila in his hand, and simultaneously the two guards pour the bittersweet liquid down their throat, and Hajime had a hard time to savor the taste by now.

“Let’s make a deal”, Hajime slurred, and waved the waitress over again, signaled her that they finally want to pay. “If you keep your opinion regar-garding Oikawa to yourself I won't ask you 'bout Akaashi, ‘kay?”

“Well, fine”, Kuroo said after a moment of recollecting his senses, and wrapped his strong arm around Hajime as a sign of reconciliation.

 

*

 

The two guards walked – _wavered_ the short way to Hajime’s apartment, as Kuroo had made a very short-timed decision to crash on Hajime’s couch. Not that Hajime cared much, he was too fucking wasted to think about anything coherent at all – well, except one thought, that wouldn’t leave his mind no matter how hard he tried to shoo it away.

“Are there any filesh about Oikawa’sh killingsh?”, he tried to ask later, with only his shirt and boxers on while he brushed his teeth next to Kuroo in his cramped bathroom.

“Shure”, Kuroo answered with his mouth full of foamy toothpaste, and Hajime had to wait for him to spit the icky fluids in the sink. “Ask Akaashi, he knows where to look.”

“I thought he’s the prison’s psychologist”, Hajime remarked, cleaning his toothbrush, “and not the, uhm… record-keeper.”

“But he ne – ne – needs the files for his studies”, Kuroo said, yawning midway, left the bathroom to let his heavy body fall onto the much too short sofa.

“You really fine with that?”, Hajime asked after he brought the half-dozing Kuroo a blanket, pointing to his makeshift-bed.

“Dude I could sleep in a puddle of mud right now, I wouldn’t care”, Kuroo said, shuffling his long legs under the blanket.

“Okay, just askin’”, Hajime said, and sat down next to Kuroo, the intoxication-caused buzz in his head faltering a bit. Kuroo nudged his feet behind Hajime’s back, and both fell silent for a while.

“Is he your type?”, Kuroo asked, when Hajime was almost dozing off, “Oikawa, I mean.”

“No”, Hajime said with a huffed laugh, even though he knew that was a lie. Oikawa was his type, in terms of physical aspects, but there’s no way in the world he would admit that to Kuroo. Instead, he went for a diversionary maneuver. “My type’s more… Akaashi.”

“Yeah, he’s really hot”, Kuroo replied, and raises his foot to rub it half-heartedly against Hajime’s back. “Hey, why haven’t we two ever –“

“Whoa, time for sleep”, Hajime said with wide open eyes, jumping off the couch to get away from Kuroo who always gets a bit too handsy when he’s wasted.

“Aw, don’t be like this”, Kuroo purred, but Hajime knew immediately that he was just joking. Living together in a twelve square meter dorm sure makes you aware of every tiny muscle contraction the other one does. “Come on, invite me to your bed, ‘n we can talk a bit more about your type.”

“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo”, Hajime said with a snort, and Kuroo snickers contentedly, letting his head flop back against the cushions.

“And you’re a bore”, Kuroo responded, and tried to pull his long legs under the blanket, trying to make himself a bit more comfortable. Hajime went to the kitchen, searching his cupboards for some clean glasses and pours himself and Kuroo some water.

“Sleep, we’ve got late shift tomorrow”, he said, and left one of the glasses on the little coffee table in front of the couch. “You’re no use at all when you’re hungover.” 

“Nighty-night”, Kuroo cooed with his Cheshire cat grin, ignoring Hajime’s scolding. “And keep your hands over the blanket!”

“Same goes for you”, Hajime gave back, dragging his body to his bedroom, where he would finally get his long-needed and well-deserved sleep.

And he won't think about Oikawa, that creep, at all.

Not tonight.

Not… tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit drunk myself after proofreading this. And the last time I drank Tequila is a bazillion years ago, dunno if you young peeps still do it like this.  
> ԅ(¯﹃¯ԅ)  
> [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)


	9. Koganegawa Kanji learns something new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further explanation of abbreviations in the end notes. (⌐■_■)

 “Hm”, Aone says, and it’s enough for Moniwa to know exactly what he’s thinking.

“The body’s still here”, the small, dark-haired officer remarks, and the lanky newbie next to him cocks an eyebrow. ‘ _Koganegawa K._ ’ reads his name tag.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” the newbie asks, and Aone stands silent, as always. Moniwa sighs. The BAU’s chief officer, Aone Takanobu was never one being good with spoken words. Sure, he wrote books about their work within the BAU and his knowledge about how to analyze crime scenes, but that doesn’t exactly count as _spoken_. Moniwa was his substitute voice from the moment on he was recruited into the department twelve years ago.

“For the forensics, sure”, Moniwa explains, and Koganegawa listens carefully, though Moniwa thinks even a butterfly would distract the antsy newbie  who craves for some action. “But it’s not common in cases of homicide.”

“Why?”, Koganegawa asks, and Aone kneels down, searches for clues, trapped in his own thoughts Moniwa can almost see through his thick skull.

“If you’d happen to murder someone”, Moniwa says, and Koganegawa flinches, “wouldn’t you hide the body? Dismember it and sink it down the bay? Hide all traces and rub the place clean until every little piece of evidence is gone?”

“I… guess?”

“Well, and that’s because this is so interesting”, Moniwa concludes, but it doesn’t quite seem that Koganegawa gets it, until he gasps and sighs out a loud “Ah!”

“Personal relationship”, Aone states suddenly, and in moments like this Moniwa feels even more like a weird translator for Aone’s shorthand sentences.

“Seems that way”, Monika murmurs, and automatically explains it to Koganegawa. “You see, the doors were not opened forcefully, means the murderer’s either someone familiar to…”, he flips the pages of his notepad, checks the victim’s name, “Tendou Satori, or he’d charmed his way in.”

“They’ve had sex, hadn't they?”, Koganegawa asks, and Moniwa’s eyelid twitches while Aone remains unfazed like a stone. “Why open the door to some stranger, and then immediately invite him in to have sex? Isn’t this a bit too dangerous? I mean, they must know each other from at least _somewhere_.”

 _You’re still so naïve_ Moniwa thinks, smirking. “Not entirely. You’ll learn this when you’re older.” Koganegawa flinches, his mouth’s corner curling, and Moniwa takes a few steps around the body. “Maybe they’ve hooked up in a bar, or something. Maybe they’ve met on a bus stop, on in the supermarket, but their visit in Tendou’s flat was of sole sexual nature. The…” Moniwa flipped his notebook open again, searching for something, eyes darting over the bits and pieces of information they’ve found so far, “The security camera’s show Tendou walking through the foyer at about 15:30, and he was stabbed not much more than an hour later. Not much time to get to know a stranger personally.”

“A camera?”, Koganegawa asks, and wrinkles his nose when Aone lifts the victim’s half-stiff finger with his pencil, for whatever purpose the young officer could only guess. “Wouldn’t the murderer be on camera, too, then?”

“Sadly, no”, Moniwa says, “There’s a back alley entrance, leading to the garbage disposal area, and if you take the stairs there’d be no need to walk through the foyer.”

“Aw, sucks”, Koganegawa remarks, and Monika cannot quite hide his smirk. _Yeah, that sucks._

“But it gives us another clue”, Moniwa says then, having the sudden urge to rummage through his pockets in need for a cigarette. Aone shots him a dark glare; he _hates_ when Moniwa vandalizes the crime scenes with his disgusting habits. Moniwa ignores him, and puts the cigarette between his lips, searches for his lighter, finds it, and lights the little device of auxiliary stress relieve while Koganegawa shifts nervously on his heels, waiting for Moniwa to continue his thought.

“And which one?”, Koganegawa blurts out finally, not able to contain his thirst for insight any longer. Moniwa takes his time to inhale deeply, with half-closed eyes, inflates his cheeks before sucking in the smoke, letting it infiltrate every last alveole of his lungs, and then speaks, feeling a little bit more at ease already.

“That the murderer knew about the cameras”, he says, reconsidering his thought a moment later, “Or he was just damn lucky, but I wouldn’t give that much thought. He knew his way around here, means they _were_ actually acquainted, or he took his time to scout this place beforehand. The second one concerns me more.”

“Look”, Aone grumbles, and points to something on the victim’s wrist. “Ligature marks.”

“Oh, so he got tied up!”, Koganegawa exclaims, “The murderer took him by surprise, tied him up and stabbed him then. Doesn’t that mean the murderer thought of himself as not strong enough to kill him without the bonds?”

Aone mumbles something, and Moniwa shakes his head, again very surprised by the younger officer’s unbridled innocence.

“Could’ve happened like this, yeah”, he says, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the nearest window, “but my guess would be that Tendou’s actually a pretty… _kinky_ guy.”

Koganegawa flushes vigorously, and Moniwa congratulates himself inwardly for flustering yet another newbie. He _loves_ to point out the darkest recesses of human desires to ingenuous, undefiled minds, and Koganegawa was the most perfect guinea pig. Not that Moniwa was ill-tempered, or a bad guy overall, but working within the minds of criminals for more than a decade makes you think differently of the world around you. Everybody lies. That’s the  truest sentence Aone’d ever told him, and up to this day it was the one thing that comes true literally always. Koganegawa’s still young, and if he wants to achieve something in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, achieve something as a _human_ , destroying his illusions of a pure, harmless world was the first thing to do.

“But the thought’s not entirely wrong”, Moniwa admits, suddenly seeing the bigger picture, and Koganegawa beams with complacence. “Ultimately Tendou _was_ tied up, and if that was something sexual or not, he'd been rendered defenseless. Maybe the murderer _was_ weaker…?”

“Cautious”, Aone adds, and Moniwa nods. “Didn’t wanna risk anything.”

“What do you think, Aone-san?” Moniwa asks, thoughtfully. “Would you allow a stranger to tie you up just for pleasure? One could guess it needs a little trust to do that.”

Aone shot Moniwa his ‘do I have to answer that?’ glance, and Moniwa laughs, wondering why he had even asked that.

“Not if the stranger’s really hot”, Koganegawa remarks, and both officers turn to look at him. “S-sorry, but that’s what I think.”

“Maybe Tendou thought the same”, Moniwa mumbles, and Aone stands up, wanders around the body to examine the other, way more bloody side. Moniwa tucks the cigarette between his lips and shuffles through his notepad, adds ‘ _attractive_ ’ to the murderer’s attributes. After a moment of thoughtful reconciliation he writes ‘ _strikingly’_ before it, and underlines the statement.

“Koganegawa”, Moniwa calls after he had tossed his cigarette butt out the window, and the younger one flinches. “What can you tell me about the way Tendou was murdered?”

“The… way?”, Koganegawa stutters, looking dumbfounded, and examines the body before his feet as if he notices its presence only now. “He’s… gotten stabbed?”

“Great”, Moniwa said, tried not to sound mocking. In fact, Koganegawa wasn’t doing all too bad, there were youngsters who’ve had  to hurl during their first real crime scene visit, and the tall blond was doing fine so far, at least on that front. He was a bit oblivious, but curious, and curiosity was the most important, inherent ability a profiler needs. “But a little bit more detail?”

“Oh, he’s got stabbed _repeatedly_ ”, Koganegawa says, and Aone snorts silently. _Was that a smirk?_ “Like… I dunno, how often?”

“About ten times, as we know so far”, Moniwa answers, “To simply kill someone it isn’t necessary to slaughter him like this.”

“That means the murderer was angry?”, Koganegawa concludes, and Monika nods, surprised by the newbie’s newfound power of deduction.

“Not angry. Furious”, Aone’s dark, grumbling voice echoes from below.

“A murderer in search for money or valuables would use another method of killing his victim, anyways”, Moniwa says, itching some scratch on his neck. “He would surely not have sex beforehand, he literally left his DNA everywhere.” Koganegawa shudders, but Moniwa talks further. “And stabbing someone is mostly too unreliable. Killing him with a gun would gain more attention, but it’s effective. No, this murderer _wanted_ to use a knife, to… to clarify something, deliver a clear message, wanted to let the victim – or the victim’s acquaintances - know that he’s not one to toy with. Maybe…”

“Revenge”, Aone remarks, and Moniwa nods again.

“Yeah”, Moniwa mumbles, letting his gaze wander upon the dead body to his feet, bloody skin the same color as the victim’s hair, when Koganegawa asks the question that was the most important and also the most precarious in cases like this.

“But why?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAU: [Behavioral Analysis Unit](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Behavioral_Analysis_Unit), former known as BSU, Behavioral Science Unit. Basically brought into being by the awesome [John E. Douglas](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_E._Douglas), one of America's first criminal profilers. I've read all his books, and I adore him and his work so much, and I can only recommend his books to everyone who's interested in the topic. 
> 
> ... did I say abbreviations? It was really just one... (｀_´)ゞ
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	10. 267

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of unknown abbreviations in the End Notes!

_Seijou high security prison file number SJ.574-A, **Oikawa Tooru** , recap. P. 1/3_

_(Additional files can be found in cell block C, archive D-11, row 7, alphabetical order, for review please contact admin. Ennoshita C. (Eff. 01.01.2015))_

 

_#084.7746/13 **Kohona Akinori** , age 23, ETD 07.12.’15, 00:30, shot in the head, immediate death, no witnesses known, evidence of former oral intercourse found, foreign DNA found, no match within CODIS_

_*_

_#084.7747/35 **Soekawa Jin** , age 23, ETD 31.12.’15, 23:55, shot in the chest, rupture of V. cava sup., immediate unconsciousness, hemorrhage after approx. 1h, found two days later (02.01.’16, 10:45) by direct neighbor Azumane A., testimony pending, no foreign DNA found_

_/ add. 02.01.’16: Testimony Azumane A. added_

_*_

_#084.7747/71 **Shirabu Kenjirou** , age 22, ETD 20.01.’16, 21:30, found dead in public lido, death occurred by drowning, signs of external forceful impact, blood-stained porcelain shards with victim's DNA found nearby, evidence of preceding oral intercourse found, no witnesses, traces of foreign DNA found, untraceable due to contamination_

_/ add. 21.01.’16: BAU briefed, Aone T. & Moniwa K. assigned, morgue informed _

_/ add. 25.01.’16: member of Shiratorizawa, further investigation advised_

_*_

_#084.7746/13 **Tendou Satori** , age 23, ETD 25.01.’16, 16:40, stabbed, abdominal aorta severed, was able to call 911 but was found dead when ambulance arrived, evidence of preceding intercourse found, traces of foreign DNA found, no match within CODIS_

_/ add. 03.02.’16: known as ‘second-in-command’ of criminal assembly called Shiratorizawa, Ushijima W. (leader) testimony pending,_  _c_ _ooperation questionable_

_/ add. 24.03.’16: DNA match with case #084.7748/88 Goshiki Tsutomu_

_/ add. 15.07.’16: DNA match with case #084.7749/02 Ushijima Wakatoshi_

 

* * *

 

“You’ve already read all the files?”

Akaashi looked at Hajime curiously, holding a spoon between his long, delicate fingers, and Hajime swore the doctor wore his fitting, black-rimmed glasses on purpose. _Is there a class like ‘Involuntarily Seducing your Co-Workers 101’ in college?_

“Y-yeah”, Hajime answered, realizing he had taxed Akaashi a bit too long. “I mean – not yet, I’ve read the first, uhm… four files.”

“And? Learned anything new?”

“I guess”, Hajime said, and placed the assemblage of loose files on the table. “And Oikawa really admitted he’d done all this sick stuff?”

“Yes, right when they’d seized him. Oikawa never even once denied his homicides.” Akaashi was in the middle of brewing some ill-smelling tea, maybe caraway, or ginger. Hajime hated ginger. “It’s uncommon for a murderer to be that open, but the more I get to know him the less it surprises me.”

“Why?”, Hajime asked, and waited for Akaashi to put his teabag in the bin, settling himself beside Hajime on his office’s couch, close enough for Hajime to get uncomfortable.

“He likes to boast”, Akaashi explained, and put three cubes of sugar in his tea. Hajime scrunches his nose, and was delighted that even the abnormally perfect Akaashi had some bad habits. “And he loves to talk about himself.”

“Who would’ve guessed”, Hajime mumbled, and Akaashi shot him a small smirk.

“You were able to talk with him, right?”, Akaashi asked, setting his tea aside, crossing his legs and giving Hajime his full attention. “Tell me, what did you learn?”

Hajime coughed slightly, and told Akaashi everything Oikawa had told him, about his childhood, his divorced parents, his years in high school. He left out the part where they had been something like neighbors – not because he didn’t trust Akaashi, but he wasn’t sure if that fact would benefit the story in any kind of way. Whether Akaashi could see through this convenient lie or not Hajime could not tell. Akaashi occasionally blew on his tea, and sipped on it as soon as it cooled down enough.

“You’re really helping me a lot, Hajime” Akaashi concluded when the guard had finished his talking, and leaned back against the headrest, with a slightly hollow back. Hajime wondered if the doctor would bend his back like this when he’d sit in Hajime’s lap. “You wouldn’t happen to continue your investigation?”

Hajime hesitated for a moment. He hadn't really _investigated_ beforehand, and hearing Akaashi say this, as if he had just snooped around Oikawa’s life made Hajime feel kind of bad. He had had real interest in Oikawa’s past; true, genuine interest. Nonetheless, he reconsidered, Oikawa was a murderer, and it was Hajime’s duty as a guard, his duty as a _human_ to help the law give Oikawa a just punishment for his crimes. _Even if it_ feels _kind of wrong, though._

“Yeah, I’d like to”, Hajime said eventually, and Akaashi showed him that charming smile that had haunted Hajime’s dreams lately.

“Great”, Akaashi said, standing up and walking to his desk, pulling out something from one of the drawers. “Do you play cards?”

“Uhm”, Hajime murmured, and Akaashi returned, sitting down again, this time a teeny bit closer. “Not much, no.”

“Do you know the game High or Low?”

Hajime snorted. “I was in college, of course I know that one.”

Akaashi smirked, and shuffled the pack of cards meticulously.

“You, or me?”, Akaashi asked, and cocked one of his delicate eyebrows. Hajime nodded in his direction.

“Go on.”

“Do you want to bet for something?”, Akaashi inquired, and flipped one card face-up – a seven of hearts – and arranged the other ones into a neat pile next to it.

“Something in mind?”, Hajime retorted, and made himself a bit more comfortable, sitting a bit sideways and drawing his leg up, so his knee would touch Akaashi’s thigh.

“Hm, nothing specific”, Akaashi answered, and peeked under the first card. “You?”

“I can think of something, yeah”, Hajime said, surprised by his own, sudden offhandedness, and Akaashi smiled interested. “But I’d like you to set the rules.”

“Let’s say…hm… how about every time you lose I can ask you something, and you have to answer it honestly?”

“And if I win?”

Akaashi smiled again, and Hajime felt his heart pound against his chest.

“You can ask me something, if you want.”

Hajime nodded, and Akaashi lifted the card to look at it properly. “Well, what do you say?”

Hajime smirked.

“Higher.”

 

*

 

_Akaashi’s first name was Keiji._

_Keiji._

_Hm… Keiji..._

_Oh, what a great name to moa–_

_Wait._

Hajime shook his head violently, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to phase out like this in the middle of his work. He was on guard duty during dinner – well, what one would call dinner around here. Basically it was just a pile of bad-smelling mud on a plastic plater, combined with some icky stuff that only hardly resembled yoghurt. For once Hajime was glad that he could cook his own meals.

Hajime watched the other guards, lazily strolling through the aisles of eating inmates, and spotted Oikawa in the middle of something that looked like a simple chatter – except that it wasn’t.

“What’s your problem, fag?”, an inmate unknown to Hajime taunted; a tall, red-headed guy with a terrible mustache that outright screamed the very same insult he had spat out towards Oikawa. Hajime’s finger twitched, and he made a step forward, when someone grabbed his arm and hinted him to stay out of this.

“Don’t”, another guard, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and gentle eyes said, and Hajime tried hard to remember his name. “Let them settle this on their own.”

“But –“, Hajime snapped, and the dark haired guy shook his head shortly.

“Problem? I don’t have a problem, really”, Hajime heard Oikawa say from afar, and the tantalizing brunet gave the mustachioed inmate his most sultry look. “But you seem to have one, though.” Oikawa leans further in, and Hajime’s heart leapt into his throat when he notices a silverish shimmer somewhere next to the other guy’s hand _. A knife?_

“Yeah, fags like you!”, the guy returned, and Oikawa smirked, lazily leaning against the counter next to him. If Oikawa knew about the other one’s hidden weapon then he was perfectly capable of not showing any sign of agitation.

“Shouldn’t we end this or something?”, Hajime asked the other guard, and couldn’t quite keep his lung from constricting painfully. 

“I’d like to”, the other one said, and when Hajime spared him a glance he notices his name tag on his chest reading ‘Sawamura D.’. “But we’re compelled to let them decimate their own kind if they have to.”

“But Oikawa – he isn’t even charged guilty by now –“, Hajime threw in, and the other guard had to grab him by the uniform again to keep him from storming towards the banter.

“Let me tell you, he is”, Sawamura said cold-heartedly, and Hajime watched the scenery, feeling on edge like never before.

“Like me?”, Oikawa repeated, and when he took a step towards the other inmate he backed away a bit, as if Oikawa was contagious. “You mean, fags like me, who won't let you fuck them even if you were the last one on earth with a dick?”

“Yeah, uh, I’m –“, the mustachioed stumbled over his words, bewildered by Oikawa’s quick-wittedness. Oikawa ignored the stuttering, and leaned further in, and Hajime clenched his hands into fists.

“I bet you’ve watched me before, my friend”, Oikawa cooed, and the other one flinched visibly, while half the dining hall fell as silent as a graveyard. The tension was almost palpable, as well as Hajime’s heart pumping thick blood through his veins. _Why isn’t Oikawa backing away, like any other decent human being would do? What the fuck is wrong with him?_ “You’re upset I won't lend you my ass?”, Oikawa continued mocking, and batted his eyelashes like a cheap whore, while the mustachioed man gnarled viciously, both ashamed and furious by Oikawa’s accusations.

“Fuck off!”, he snarled, completely baffled and out of words, and Hajime, already vividly imagining the dining hall’s floor covered in Oikawa’s shiny blood, lunged forwards, out of Sawamura’s grasp and in the direction of Oikawa.

But he was too late, and much too slow, when the mustachioed man raised his hand and presented the shiny thing that had indeed been a knife – a pocketknife, to be precise, pretty well-polished, obviously sharp, and for sure pretty illegal to carry around in a high security prison. Hajime was about to yell something, _anything_ to distract the guy that lunged out in Oikawa’s general direction, when suddenly Oikawa took a step aside, neatly dodging the man’s arm, and leaned casually back against the counter while the man stumbled, and knocked down another inmate with his elbow.

“Take that weapon down, inmate!”, Hajime heard some other guard yell, while he himself couldn’t care less for anyone around him; pushing aside the gawking inmates he made his way through the aisles of tables and chairs, the only thing in his mind being _Oikawa, Oikawa,_ entirely focused, _determined_ to protect the man from getting himself stabbed.  

But Oikawa wasn’t some damsel in distress, and when the mustachioed guy turned around, approaching Oikawa once again with brandished knife Hajime realized that, too. Oikawa patted away the other one’s outstretched arm with practiced ease, grabbed the tall guy by his shoulder, and kicked his nuts so hard Hajime could hear them crack open from afar. The crowd hissed and groused, and when he managed to break free from the gawking crowd Hajime saw the tall man kneeling in front of Oikawa, with a pained expression, the knife tossed aside somewhere. Two guards stormed through the inmates and picked the writhing guy up, hands still between his legs as if he feared his balls might fall off if he wouldn’t hold onto them. Oikawa, smug and irritatingly chill turned around to collect his tray from the counter, bid the baffled kitchen employee a good day and left the scenery, humming a cheery melody, giving Hajime a wink when he walked by.

Hajime filled his constricted lungs with air, and collected the knife before another inmate would use the opportunity to take it. Absently checking his reflection in the knife’s shiny blade he wondered if that Oikawa had been the very one that had murdered all those people; that cold, collected, jaded Oikawa that had not only dared to taunt his taller and stronger opponent but had taken him out without even remotely running out of breath, too. _That Oikawa who had killed eleven men in cold blood, for whatever reason._

Hajime couldn’t quite tell if he was impressed, or profoundly perturbed.

And, much worse, he wasn’t sure what it meant for his own sanity that the only thing in his mind was to keep Oikawa out of harm’s way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CODIS: Combined DNA Index System = the United States national DNA database created and maintained by the FBI.  
> BAU: [Behavioral Analysis Unit](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Behavioral_Analysis_Unit)
> 
> And: If you feel kind of irritated as to why members of Fukurodani are in the Shiratorizawa organisation, than that's entirely on purpose, and the author will explain this unsettling circumstance in one of the future chapters. ρ(￣ﾍ￣ ﾒ)  
> I waltzed through this boulder of information and dates and numbers about a million times, if anything's a bit weird, ignore it (´꒳`∗)
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/) if you like!


	11. 254

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current writing inspiration: [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olaqthsSRpA) (ﾉ´▽｀)ﾉ♪

Visiting day in a high security prison has always been one of the most exhausting events for the guards. Literally everyone’s a possible smuggler, and each and everyone’s pocket could be room for any unwanted contraband. Hajime and his fellow guards got all their hands full with thorough body searches, impatient inmates and displeased relatives, as well as a whole assload of papers that had to be read, approved or denied, stamped and filed in the prison’s archives. Hajime’s brain began to twitch nervously when he checked the time for the umpteenth time during the same hour – still three hours left until the gates would be closed for this month, and all the visitors would leave for good. And, much to Hajime’s chagrin, Kuroo was on vacation this week to visit his sick uncle, or pregnant sister, or whatever, Hajime hadn't really listened to his talking. His mind was much too distracted with a certain tantalizing brunet, and the way he always slows down in his tracks whenever he passed Hajime. How he always smiled delightfully, and waved his hand in greeting, or winked sometimes, and Hajime hated his body for feeling a bit too hot in this peculiar moments.

Hajime wasn’t supposed to feel this way for a murderer, nor was he supposed to sweat and shiver a bit more when Oikawa’s knee brushed his thigh during another ride to the court a week prior.

He should not fall in love with Oikawa, that easily.

_Fall in love_ , he thought, snorting noisily, startling his co-worker with the sudden noise, _I’m nowhere near falling in love with that ass. Nowhere near._

But, the day Oikawa had almost been stabbed had awoken something inside Hajime, something deep and slumbering, and more often than not he pondered heavily over that day's events, questioning himself if that had probably been the missing initial spark to light his flame of attraction for Oikawa.

Hajime felt so, so fucked.

His mind was fully geared to look out for Oikawa on days like this, even just for the option to learn a bit about his relatives – if he had some. Hajime realized, he hadn't seen Oikawa all day, and when Hajime's co-worker took over his place to guard the dining hall he didn’t hesitate one more moment, and made his way towards Block A, trying to remain a casual composure.

“What’re you doin’ here?”, he asked when he spotted Oikawa lounging lazily on his creaking bed, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling. “It’s visiting day.”

“Ah, I was just admiring my current home’s neat decoration”, Oikawa remarked, and swayed his hand around to motion towards the cell’s bleak walls. “I’m way to comfy here to stand up.”

“You’re supposed to talk with your relatives”, Hajime said, and Oikawa sat up slowly, heavy limbs sliding off the bland mattress.

“Yeah”, Oikawa retorted, curiously watching his fingernails. “Given I have some.”

“You don’t?”, Hajime asked, remembering their talk about Oikawa’s family. “What about your Dad?”

Oikawa let out a gasp of air through his nose. “You really think he would visit me? His disgraced son? A murderer?”

“Everyone’s got skeleton’s in his closet”, Hajime remarked, and heard his inner mind scream in aggravation about the way he’s outright comforting Oikawa right now.

“But not everyone’s got them quite literally”, Oikawa replied, and stood up, the bedframe creaking noisily. He sauntered through his cell, patted away the dust from his orange prison slacks, and leaned casually against the cell’s door even though he could just open it and walk out to talk properly to Hajime. “He’s not going to come. Nobody will.”

Hajime let out a small laugh, irritating Oikawa.

“What’s with that depressing attitude?”, Hajime asked, and propped his hands onto his waist. “You tellin’ such gloomy shit’s even more annoying than your usual behavior.”

For a moment Oikawa stood still, contemplated, but the he cocked a smirk, and brushed his hand through his chocolate brown hair, partially hiding his face in the shallow shadow of the cell. If Hajime didn’t know better he would say Oikawa’s a bit flustered.

“Come on, get out of there”, Hajime said, and opened the cell door. Oikawa showed him a questioning glance, and returned to grab his orange prison jacket, following Hajime outside, through cell block A and B, past the visiting room and to the courtyard.

“Where’re we going?”, Oikawa asked, falling into a short jog to keep up with Hajime’s fast-paced walking. “Oh dear officer, I don’t hope you’re taking me to –“

“Finish this thought and I’ll bring you back to your cell instantly, and keep it locked until you’re starved to death.” Hajime wanted to stay serious, but could do nothing about the smirk that tried to creep into his face, and he was glad Oikawa’s walking behind so he wouldn’t have a chance to see it.

“Mean, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa mocked playfully, and Hajime strongly hoped that Kuroo would never get the wind of how the inmate called him, otherwise he would probably never hear the end of it. He could already imagine Kuroo cooing _Iwa-chan_ repeatedly in his ear, and felt an uneasy shiver running down his spine.

A moment later Hajime found what he was looking for: a bench overseeing half of the court, one that had probably been green long time ago, with its color flaking off all over and revealing the gray metal structure beneath. It was cool to the touch, but Hajime sat down anyways, and motioned Oikawa to take a seat next to him.

“So, tell me”, Hajime said after he’d taken a deep breath, not really sure himself what he’d wanted to achieve with this action. “How’ve you been in here?”

“Huh?” Oikawa cocked his head sideways, and raised his eyebrow in question.

“Let’s pretend I’m your dad”, Hajime explained, ignoring how weird that might sound to an unknown bystander. “Come on, tell me about your life in prison. Have you eaten enough?”

“Hadn't taken you for someone with a daddy kink”, Oikawa hummed amusedly, and harrumphed when Hajime glared at him in annoyance.

“If you don’t want to play along, then I'm –“

“No! No, I want to, really”, Oikawa replied hastily, and cleared his throat once again. “So… yeah, I’m… they treat me quite well in here. The food’s nasty, but not as bad as the mush Oba-san makes.”

Oikawa cackled about his own joke, and Hajime couldn’t keep himself from grinning about the weird guy next to him who played along with Hajime’s proposal without much objection. Deep inside, even Oikawa seemed to be a little kid that needed a bit of consolation from his parents. … Or someone pretending to be his dad just to keep him from brooding too much in his lonesome cell.

“Don’t talk about your aunt like this”, Hajime warned, and made Oikawa chuckle again. “Or, do it, I don’t really know. You’re probably right about her food.”

“I am!”, Oikawa exclaimed, “She always made this – this stuff, I don’t even know what kind of vegetable it is, and it tastes so bad! I really love Oba-san, but her food’s gross.”

Hajime wondered for a moment if he had ever met Oikawa’s aunt when he had been younger and still living in the immediate vicinity of the other one’s family.

“And, do they treat you well in here?”, Hajime asked, and turned around a bit so he sat almost opposite towards Oikawa, drew one leg up to make himself a bit more comfortable.

“Yeah they do”, Oikawa says, smiling cheerfully, and lifted his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bench, his knees brushing over Hajime’s slightly. He could almost feel the other one’s warmth, and something about that made Hajime’s stomach twist unpleasantly. “There’s this guy, you know, he’s pretty okay. Talks to me, and treats me like, I don’t know… a human being?”

Hajime let his gaze wander to Oikawa’s eyes, dark brown and half-lidded, and for a short moment he wondered what it would have been if they’d met not in here but outside, in their former neighborhood. It had probably been just a bit more than a decade ago when they’d still lived there, but for Hajime it felt like ages, lightyears that separated him from the Oikawa that had once been a normal boy in a normal neighborhood, in a normal city, living an unimpressive live – well, who’s he kidding, probably nothing Oikawa’s ever done could be called _unimpressive_. That Hajime hadn't seen him for once in the past years felt outright wrong, unreasonable, and, to a small account, unfair. Could they have been friends? Lovers? Would’ve Oikawa still become a murderer if Hajime would’ve held him back?

“You should see him, that guy”, Oikawa spoke further, and Hajime listened silently, too much consumed by the way Oikawa’s hand crept forward to gently brush over Hajime’s knee. “Mom would’ve called him marriage material, I’m sure. You know she would. He’s… really handsome. I’d like to introduce you two sometime. It’s funny, you know. He’d lived in our neighborhood, and I even though I’ve walked by his house every day I’ve never really met him. It’s… sad, I guess.”

“Oikawa…”, Hajime said lowly, not really knowing what else to say except the other one’s name, and his heart thudded against his chest when Oikawa’s thumb began to make small circular movements above the thick cloth of Hajime’s uniform.

“Call me Tooru, please”, Oikawa offered, and Hajime racked his brain whether he should shove the hand on his knee aside, or lay his hand upon Oikawa’s.

Hajime wanted to puke. He felt so weird, so torn between giving in and storming off, and Oikawa’s gentle touch made it even worse. But, after a moment Oikawa removed his hand by himself, leaning back and stretching his body as if hadn't had the opportunity to sit straight since days. “How’s mum?”, he asked, as a subterfuge to dissolve the heavy silence between them. “Have you been at her place?”

“Oikawa, I don’t know how –“

“Oh, it’s fine”, Oikawa intervened hastily, shaking his head slightly, deriding his useless question. Hajime couldn’t quite tell whether Oikawa was still playing along, or not. “It doesn’t matter, though. That you’ve come here means… quite a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome”, Hajime replied in loss for a proper answer.

“That was a genuine offer”, Oikawa remarked, “you calling me Tooru. I’d like that.”

“I don’t think I can do that”, Hajime admitted after a moment, and Oikawa looked disappointed, if not a bit hurt.

“That’s… I know –“

“If someone’s listening”, Hajime added, slowly, trying to not sound too promising. “But, when no one’s around… I’ll think of it.”

Oikawa popped an alleviated smile, the tension in his body vanishing. He turned around to let his feet dangle off the bench, and yawned passionately.

“There’s another hearing next Tuesday”, Oikawa remarked, and let his eyes wander over the almost empty courtyard. “You want to accompany me?”

“When haven’t I ever?”, Hajime asked, and scratches off a loose flake of color from the bench.

“You haven’t told so much about yourself”, Oikawa said lowly, and Hajime was a bit startled by the sudden turn of topic.

“There’s not much to tell about myself”, Hajime admitted, flicking away the green flake and watching it fly off. Unlike the time in the bus Hajime wanted to talk about himself now, wanted to tell Oikawa about his own life, even if there was still this tiny little spark of awareness in his mind that told him to keep his private life to himself.

“I bet there is a lot”, Oikawa replied, and Hajime watched the prisoner for a short moment before finally deciding that it couldn’t hurt to tell Oikawa a bit in return for his openness. Pondering where to begin he crossed his arms in front of his chest while Oikawa sat sideways once again, like a kid that got a story told by his gramps.

And then Hajime talked, talked and laughed and waved his hands around at the important parts to give his story that extra bunch of emphasis, until it’s way past six and all the visitors had been kicked out of the prison and the guards had returned to their respective workplaces. Hajime hadn't thought once about the fact that he was supposed to be on guard duty at Block A right now, he was too much invested in talking to Oikawa, who listened closely, attentive, and said ‘oh’ and ‘ah at all the right places, and watches Hajime with an almost childlike fascination. Never before in his life had someone listened to Hajime that eagerly, that thoroughly, and he wallowed in the feeling of being valuable to someone like a pig in the mud.

In that night, when the moon stood high up in the sky and when the prison’s last light had probably gone out long ago he meandered home, an involuntary smile on his lips, wondering when it had been the last time he had felt elated like this.

And, as it happened quite a lot lately, the thought of Oikawa Tooru and his joyous smile, his pristine skin, lithe figure and fluffy hair was the last thing on Hajime’s mind before he fell into his well-earned sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)


	12. Excursion into the mind of the quick-tempered and thoroughly wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story finally lives up to its rating, but maybe not in the way some of you want it to. (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)
> 
> You've been warned.

Tendou splays out his limbs on his couch, sighing and checking the clock once again. Not that he’s nervous, but the thought about the things to come makes him a bit… _jittery_. He’s been like this for the last few days, and he’s desperate for some outlet to unload his stress onto. He could’ve just gone to the bar and hooked up with some stranger, but that’d require effort and talking and uncertainty, and he’s not really up for working for his pleasure today.

The doorbell rings, and Tendou jumps from the couch, takes his large living room with just four, five steps until he nothing but rips the door open – and is greeted by an unknown yet remarkably pretty face.

“Who’re you?”, he asks, cocking an eyebrow and feeling the anticipation in his body subside a bit. He _really_ wants to get off soon. 

“You’re… Tendou-san, right?”, the unknown beauty asks, and checks his phone briefly. “You’ve requested the agency’s services, right?”

“Yeah, but –“, Tendou begins, imagining the long legs and perfectly round ass he’d ordered quite often lately, and wonders why _this_ guy’s here, now. “Where’s Kunimi-chan?”

“Unfortunately he’s gotten the flu”, the pretty one says, with an almost coy look that makes Tendou’s eyelid twitch. _Well, this one’s as good as the other_ , he guesses, and decides to give him a chance. Tendou can see this one’s legs are long, and end in a well-shaped butt, too – he has to give him that, and he wonders what else the pretty one has up his sleeve.

“Fine”, he says, and makes way to bid him in with a waving gesture. “Come on in, then. I’m sure you’ve got… pretty equal qualities.”

“Oh, that remains to be seen”, the pretty one says cockily, and shows a smirk teasing enough for Tendou to feel a bit too big for his skin.

 

Half an hour and two glasses of wine later Tendou sits on his couch, the pretty one kneeling above him, shirtless, gorgeous as fuck, and just tipsy enough for Tendou to feel comfortable mentioning his… special desires.

“You mean, tying you up?”, the pretty one asks, and Tendou nods, lets his hands slide down the other one’s sides, worshipping the way his lean, well-defined muscles shift beneath his skin. As much as he likes having a writhing Kunimi under his command, this one seems to be a whole other kind of beautiful. He can’t wait for him to shake off that tight jeans of his, that bulges up and flattens down in all the right places.

“Yeah, that’s what gets me goin’”, Tendou says with a subtle slur, and relishes the way the pretty one sways his clothed hips over his crotch.

“That’s something I can serve with”, the pretty one hums, and admires Tendou’s bare chest beneath his spread-out palms. “I’m not really prepared for such requests, though.”

Tendou places a kiss against the pretty one’s collarbone, and then nods towards his bedroom. “No worries”, he says, smirking, “I’ve got just the right thing.”

And then, Tendou stands up, and the pretty one wraps his gorgeous thighs around his waist, and lets himself carry into the bedroom where he’s been tossed onto the bed, waiting for Tendou to grab the silken rope from the small red chest that’s stored conveniently on the front of his closet for easy access. He spares a look behind to the gorgeous brunet, and then crawls onto the bed where the pretty one has already peeled out of his tight pants. Tendou’s about to shed his own garb when the pretty one snatches the rope from his hands and motions him to press his wrists together.

“Let me do the work, Tendou-san”, the pretty one pleads, and what kind of gentleman would Tendou be to decline that request. He leans back against the headrest, and takes note of the meticulous way his wrists get laced together, tight enough for it to be satisfying, but not enough for it to constrict his blood circulation. “Lay back and relax, please.”

Tendou obliges willingly, and grins delightfully when the pretty one lifts Tendou’s arms to tie the rope onto the headrest. The brunet looks at him, with half-lidded eyes and an amused curl on his lips, and goes down to place a kiss onto Tendou’s stomach, lets his tongue dip into his navel and encircles the small crevice with practiced ease. 

“You’re gorgeous like this”, Tendou remarks, and grins broadly when the pretty brunet blushes slightly.

“Don’t say such things, Tendou-san”, the pretty one says, and licks a trail down to the seam of Tendou’s pants, where a prominent bulge bumps against the pretty one’s throat. Tendou can’t wait for that tongue and lips working his dick. The pretty one sways his chocolate brown locks aside, and slides his palm down, to where the heat coils inside Tendou’s pants, and Tendou bucks his hips up in unrestricted eagerness. The brunet stops in his tracks and spares Tendou a tantalizing yet scolding glance.

“Ah ah”, he says, and waves a long finger. “You’re not supposed to do anything as long as I’m not telling you to do so.”

“And what if I won't obey?”, Tendou teases, and hisses painfully when the pretty one clenches his nails into his crotch.

“I’ll hurt you”, the pretty one says syrupy sweet when Tendou puffs out air, pained and aroused the same time. “And it won't be the pleasant sort of hurt.”

Tendou pants the pain away, and arches his back when the pretty one leans down to mouth his erection through his pants, makes up for the way he had to chastise Tendou a moment before.

“So, you’re willing to be obedient from now on? No movement, no talking until I say so?”, the pretty one asks, stops mouthing Tendou’s arousal and slowly pulls down his slacks, only hindered by the way Tendou’s cock stands upright and waiting in eager anticipation. Tendou nods frantically, and the pretty one smirks in amusement, turns his attention towards Tendou’s pants again and pulls them further down, cock springing free from its restrictions. “Oh, someone hadn't bothered with wearing underwear, hm?”

Tendou wants to answer, wants to _say yeah, no need for underwear when it gets torn off, anyways_ , but remembers the rules the pretty one had set. Instead, he nods again, and breathes hard when the pretty one places a kiss against his dick’s oozing tip.

“That’s the way I want that”, the pretty one says, and gives the tip a probing lick. “If you obey, you’ll be rewarded, Tendou-san.”

And then, Tendou feels as if he’s in heaven; the pretty one downs his dick, hot cavern of his mouth surrounding his throbbing length, and Tendou almost forgets that he’s supposed to be quiet. He wants to moan, wants to blurt out instructions, wants to unfasten his restrictive bonds to pull at the pretty one’s hair, and wants to buck his hips up to be even deeper inside that hot mouth. But this wanting, this urgent needing feels so good by itself, he’s more than willing to oblige and savor the way the pretty one’s head bobs up and down his length, until it’s sheathed fully inside his mouth, until Tendou’s able to feel the other one’s throat pressing against his cock’s head, and it so, _so_ good he almost comes right here and now.

The pretty one seems to realize that, pulls his head away, and exposes Tendou’s hard, oozing cock to the cold surroundings of his bedroom.

“I could let you come like this”, the pretty one remarks, and lazily wraps his hand around Tendou’s length, pumping it while he leans forward to search around Tendou’s nightstand, until he finds the lube and condom he’s looking for. _Conveniently placed everywhere I could possibly need them_ Tendou thinks, and keeps himself from chuckling, watches the pretty one uncapping the bottle and pouring a significant amount of sticky fluid onto his fingers. “But where’s my fun in that?”

Tendou’s mouth falls open when the pretty one tosses the bottle aside and reaches behind himself, moaning sweetly when his fingers begin to stretch his entrance open. Tendou gasps, and licks his dry lips, in sheer awaiting for the other one’s tight hole around his cock, and he yearns to just burst his bonds to grab the pretty one by the throat, by his hair, whatever he gets his hands on first to press him into the sheets and fuck him until he’s wrung dry. But he’s getting none of that, and he’s perfectly fine with it as long as he would soon be able to pound into that perfectly round-shaped butt, no matter the position.

The brunet leans down to place wet kisses onto Tendou’s cock again, then he removes his fingers from his hole to rip the condom open, wrap it around Tendou’s length while Tendou tries to not come from that movement itself. He was too much on edge right now to think properly, to keep himself from coming, he just wants it to end, and wants to have his sweet release, preferably while being buried balls-deep inside a hot brunet.

“You’ve been such a good boy”, the pretty one hums, and Tendou relishes the way his voice sounds; hoarse, and thick with arousal, and he’s glad he’s not the only one in desperate need for a satisfying fuck. “Let’s give you the reward you’ve earned, okay?”

The bonds tear on his wrists when Tendou nods frantically, and tosses his head back against the pillow, panting heavily in unveiled expectation. And then, _finally_ , the brunet crawls over him, and reaches behind to line his hole up with Tendou’s previously slicked-up cock, and presses the head inside against a bit of resistance, moaning deeply when the shaft slips inside, agonizingly slow, but so, _so_ exceptionally good. Tendou growls, and tosses his head to the side, desperately keeping himself from clenching his eyes shut so he can see the pretty one on his lap, who sinks down on his throbbing cock with an expression Tendou would probably never forget. He looks so pleased, so totally and thoroughly satiated by the way Tendou’s cock it sheathed inside his ass, and Tendou couldn’t care less if that’s just for show or the truth.

He’s definitely going to order that one, again.

The pretty one sits flush on his lap a second later, and doesn’t spare himself one single moment before lifting his ass again, only to let it bounce back against Tendou’s hip, moaning pleasantly in the process.

“You’re so b-big, Tendou-san”, he moans, and his mouth stays open when he bounces again, slaps his ass against Tendou’s cock, searching for that delicious fullness, that thorough feeling of being filled to the brim, and Tendou tears at his bounds, desperate to touch that pristine body glistening with sweat, leading both of them to their sweet release in a stupidly fast manner. Tendou cannot keep himself from growling when his orgasm overwhelms him, and he almost bends the headboard when he struggles against his shackles and spills his release into the condom, buried into the pretty brunet clenching his tight ass around Tendou’s cock. The pretty one’s driven over the edge a moment later, too, spilling hot cum all over Tendou’s abdomen and chest, and Tendou swears he’s instantly hard again from the devastated, messed-up state the brunet’s in.

Tendou huffs and wheezes, and falls slack almost immediately, all bones in his body turned to jelly while the pretty one on his lap stays as he is, with Tendou’s throbbing cock still inside, milking every last drop of cum out of him.

“Am I – am I allowed to talk again?”, Tendou huffs, and the brunet nods weakly, sways his hips two, three last times until Tendou’s close to oversensitivity, then he lets his dick glide out and settles himself onto Tendou’s abdomen, softly brushing his palms over his heaving chest. “That was – wow, damn.”

“It was”, the pretty one says, and sighs out in content. “You’re still worried Kunimi-chan’s not here?”

“Not a bit”, Tendou smirks, “don’t get me wrong, he’s got great merits, but… wow, you’re just a whole other level.” Tendou sighs contemplative and tries to sit up, when a slight pain in his shoulders remembers him of the shackles he’s still bound to the headboard with. No wonder he’d forgot that, by the way he’d gotten his mind blown by the pretty brunet sitting on his stomach like a goddess sculptured out of marble, chest heaving and sinking in a calming rhythm. “Ah, do you mind if you…” Tendou motions to the bounds, and the pretty one nods in sudden realization. “As much as I like this it’s beginning to sting a bit…”

“Ah, yeah”, the pretty one says, and lifts his shivering body to make his way towards Tendou’s restrictive bonds. But then, he holds still in his movements, keeps Tendou’s wrists tied together tightly. “But… do you mind waiting a moment, Tendou-san? I’ve remembered just now that I’ve got something for you.”

“Ah, okay”, Tendou says in shallow surprise, while the pretty one doesn’t wait for him to comply, and instead stands up and sways his pretty booty towards the living room, while Tendou uses the moment to calm down his senses, closes his eyes and takes a long breath.

“Just a little surplus, Tendou-san”, the pretty one purrs from afar, and Tendou can hear him rummaging around somewhere, probably through his bag he’d left earlier next to the couch.

“But… don’t take this the wrong way”, Tendou remarks, and tries to catch his breath, “but I, uhm… might need a moment to, ah… collect my fluids, I guess.“

“Take as long as you need”, Tendou hears the brunet say, and knows by the proximity of his voice that he’d come back into the bedroom. Tendou feels him climb onto the bed, and realizes he’s kneeling above him, again. When Tendou opens his eyes, the pretty brunet looks at him closely, pensive, with his hands behind his back.

“What’re you…”, Tendou tries to ask, and his thought cuts off immediately when the pretty one shows his hands, something shiny, _sharp_ glistening between his fingers. When the pretty one’s gentle smile freezes, and turns into a crooked mask devoid of any emotions, Tendou knows immediately that he’s fucked.

Hot blood shots through his brain, dulls his hearing and blinds his reason when he tries to shove the pretty one off his lap, but the way he’s still bound to the headrest makes it a lot less effective than he’d hoped for. The pretty one, toying with the knife between his fingers – Tendou’s favorite, by the way, sharp enough to split a coconut in half – spares Tendou a wicked glance.

“That’s for everything you’ve done”, the brunet spats, eyes turned dark and lacking any kind of emotional warmth. “You and your fucked up organization.”

“H-hey, if that’s about something Shiratorizawa’d done, then –“ Tendou tries to lift his legs, and the faint buzz of the alcohol that had been so pleasant a moment before is gone, as well as the delightful post-coital lightness the brunet had caused. He needs to get out of here, or else –

“You don’t even deserve to defend yourself”, the pretty one scoffs, and clenches his fist around the knife, his dark brown eyes wide and fixated onto his prey beyond. The muscles Tendou had admired are now flexing and tensing threateningly below the brunet’s skin, and Tendou was sure he would never defend himself properly, being bound to the headboard like this. “You only deserve to die, and I’m delighted that I can be the one causing it.”

“Come on!”, Tendou whines, fiddles with the rope, and manages to break his pinkie free, “Let’s talk about it! We – we could make a deal with Ushi-“

“No”, the brunet says, and his fingers shiver around the knife, “no more. Your victims hadn't had the chance to negotiate, too.”

“W-wait -!”

Searing pain, sharp, all-embracing, mixed with a disgusting noise of tearing skin, crackling bones, and a pained scream when the pretty one lets his hand snap down was everything that Tendou could hear, his mind bursting and whirling around the sole thought to _get the fuck out of here_. He thrashed his legs around, tried to shove the pretty one off, but that one just lifted his arm connected with the knife, and stabbed Tendou once, twice again, makes him scream in agony while the pretty one’s face remains unfazed, cold, detached from the way Tendou fights desperately for his life. Tendou wants to scream again when the knife’s rutted blade leaves his chest, when it splatters thick blood onto the bedsheets and his pillows, but nothing comes  out of his throat, just raspy gurgling, and then he tastes the vile metallic flavor of fresh, foamy blood filling his mouth. He coughs, and garbles, and tries to pry his hands down, to push the brunet away, but everything begins to become a blur, a searing parching mix of pain and breathlessness and panic, tinted in red and white, and then, black.

“Pray the devil will be kinder than I am”, he hears the pretty one’s contemptuous voice echo through his bedroom, from somewhere far away, and Tendou’s hardly conscious when the brunet jumps off his lap to get away from the scene. Tendou wheezes, tries to fill his lungs with air, and coughs again viciously when they won't obey, when there’s just blood inside, sounding like a mushy mass being stirred inside his head.

He doesn’t really know how long he lies there, curved to the side, with drawn-up knees and bare-naked, his hands still bound to the headrest. He couldn’t tell if it was his own, mucous blood that makes it possible to finally slip out of the rope with one hand, but after what seemed to be years of struggling he manages to pry his other hand out of the bonds, too, and lets out a pained gasp when he draws his arms close. He lowers them, and is grossed out by the way the viscid, cooling blood touches his skin, sticks to the bedsheet everywhere around him. _His own blood_ , seeping out of the wounds in his chest and abdomen, staining the bed, the floor, everything around him in a deep-dark red mess of stripes and splotches and speckles. Tendou whimpers lowly, and thinks about keeping his eyes close for good, to end this pain and travel off to somewhere better, to where he can breathe again, to just make the pain and shortness of breath stop. His remaining blood pulsates through his ears in a low buzz, and he knows he’s about to lose consciousness soon.

But, he remembers, he’s not ready to die yet, not ready to get stabbed to death by some callboy-maniac, who’d left him to die naked in his own flat after what had probably been one of the best fucks he’d ever had. He wants to laugh, amused by the thought about the preceding events. It’s all so unreal, so fucking, fucking surreal, that he’s going to die from an afternoon hook-up, in the very prime of his life, being the left hand of Ushijima Wakatoshi, that he’s admiring so much, so –

_Ushijima._

The remembrance of his revered superior makes Tendou pry his eyes open. In panic, he looks around, and flaps his arm to the side, to his nightstand where his phone’s supposed to be. But, _fuck the circumstances_ , of course he’d left it in the kitchen earlier. He groans in pain when he tries to lift his body up, tries to get out of the bed and into the kitchen, and god-only-knows where he’s finding the power to roll over, he’s doing it, and feels a crooked kind of relieve before he falls off the bed with a loud _thump_ , and cries out in agony when the pain sears through his body like a lightning bolt. He sobs and wheezes, and fights against the urge to just lay there and die, and crawls into the kitchen, slowly but steadily, bleeding all over his fluffy carpets and expensive marble floor, and stays still once in a while to come back to his senses. He’s almost blinded by pain the moment he’s able to fish his phone from the counter, and, after he’d called 911 and hoped they’d understand his garbled nonsense, falls down to rest his head against the cool counter’s front, and dozes off, hoping he’s still alive and breathing when he’s waking up again.

 

Unfortunately, he’s not.

 

* * *

 

 

“At least, that’s what I thought how it’s played out.”

Moniwa straightens his back, and turns around to Aone, who cocks him a non-existent eyebrow while Koganegawa looks as if he’d just peed his pants. _Or something else that involves stained undergarments_ , Moniwa thinks, and lays the pen aside he’d been nibbling on while he’d told his co-workers about the way he reconstructs their current case.

“Your… descriptions are pretty vivid”, Aone remarks, and funnily enough Koganegawa excuses himself to use the bathroom. _Poor lad_ , Moniwa thinks, and smirks. He’s a bit sorry for painting the picture so vibrantly, but once he’s into storytelling there’s no way he’s gonna stop it.

“Yeah, sorry for that”, Moniwa says and brushes his hand through his messy hair. They’d been down here in the archives for about three days straight, to find as much information about Shiratorizawa as necessary, and both officers are pretty tired and pretty strung up by now.  

After a long while, Koganegawa comes back from the restroom, with a coy look on his face, cheeks tinted red as he dug his nose into another file, staying absolutely silent for once.

“I’ve called the agency, by the way”, Moniwa says, and flicks the pen between his fingers, “Dandelion – what a name for a callboy-agency.”

“I thought it’s an escort service?”, Koganegawa remarks, and Moniwa gives him a scowl.

“As if”, Moniwa says, “They’re pretty new to the market, but apparently Tendou’s a pretty frequent customer, always requests a guy named Kunimi, or… something like that, it was…”

“Then the murderer’s a member of the agency, too?”, Koganegawa asks, and Moniwa shakes his head.

“Unfortunately, no”, the older one says, and is a tiny bit dissatisfied with Aone’s missing reaction. Moniwa’s found that out, an important information, and Aone’s not even willing to give him a single acknowledging groan in response. Moniwa sighs. “Someone he’d found a way to eavesdrop Tendou’s call with the agency, and had canceled the job in Tendou’s stead a few minutes later. The reception lady couldn’t really tell me about it because she was stoned as fuck when I’d called her –“Aone harrumphs about Moniwa’s ill-mannered speech, and Moniwa rolls his eyeballs, returning to explain his newest discoveries, nonetheless. “Anyways, the murderer had canceled the job, and then arrived at Tendou’s place and disguised himself as the callboy he’d ordered.”

“I guess that explains the short timespan”, Koganegawa says more to himself than to Moniwa, but the older officer nods, nonetheless.

“But it doesn’t explain how he’d managed to find out about Tendou’s workings with the agency, nor why he’d slept with Tendou beforehand when he just could’ve stabbed him without, ahem… intercourse.”

Moniwa refrains himself from using swearwords in Aone’s vicinity, and leans back, rocking his chair back and forth while pondering over this still not answerable question.

“Maybe he’d just wanted it?”, Koganegawa proposes, and even though Moniwa feels like chuckling about this pure lad with his unblemished perception he has to admit that they _could_ be on the right track with that thought.

“Hey”, Moniwa remarks, and Aone looks up from the loose assertion of files he’d been working through. “Do you think we should ask Ushijima for his assistance?”

“Doubt he’d cooperate”, Aone says simply, and continues reading in silence. Moniwa sighs heavily, straightening his back once again.

“We could stop for tonight”, Moniwa provides, and Koganegawa snaps his file shut, nodding frantically while Aone just glares over his file. “You up for a beer?”

“Yeah, count me in!”, Koganegawa says alleviated, and ushers out the room with a delighted face to grab their jackets.

“You shouldn’t drink so much”, Aone scolds, and Monika pulls a pout in annoyance.

“And you shouldn’t brood so much, Aone-san”, he says, and rolls his eyes by the unfazed way Aone returns to reading. “Well, tomorrow then”, Moniwa dismisses himself, and leaves a grumbling Aone to himself. Moniwa smirks on his way out, and pulls his last cigarette from his pocket, knowing that a grumbling, non-responsive Aone could only mean he’d already found some unclear connection, and he’s willing to find out more about it, before another member of Shiratorizawa gets killed by an unknown maniac with an outstanding score.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll see myself out.  
> [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)


	13. 248

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short transition today - but next chapter's going to be awesome, promise!  
> ... It felt awesome when I wrote it, that is...（￣へ￣）  
> I'm really thinking about changing the story to present tense, would anyone mind much? It's getting kinda confusing to write past tense sometimes, and I felt way more comfortable when I wrote the Datekou-chaps in present tense, you know, non-native speaker 'n such. I believe I made a crapload of mistakes during the whole writing process... (¯―¯٥)

“And? How was your vacation?”

Hajime had to wait for Kuroo to stop yawning. Apparently having a week full of free time hadn't been very restorative for the other guard. The two of them sat in the guard’s office overseeing Block A, occasionally checking the CCTV in the back.

“Oh, fine, really. Fuyuka’d gotten the baby safe and sound.”

_Ah, so no sick uncle, then._

“Ah, uhm…” Hajime’s thoughts trailed off when he saw Oikawa walking down the aisle, with his hands in his pockets, probably going to his workplace. _I don’t even know where he’s working_ Hajime wondered, and only snapped back to the present when Kuroo snapped his finger in front of Hajime’s eyes.

“Hey, do you even listen?”, he scoffed, and scowled when Hajime looked at him blandly. “I’ve talked to you.”

“Ah, no, sorry”, Hajime excused himself, and brushed his hand over his neck, taking a mental note to ask Oikawa about his workplace. “S-so, what’s the kid’s name?”

“Touta”, Kuroo answered, slowly, and cocked a slim eyebrow a moment later. “Dude, you’re still not listening. ”

“What? Oh, well... uhm, excuse me?” Hajime _wanted_ to hear whatever Kuroo had to say, but Oikawa had discovered him and waved at him with a tender smile, a simple gesture that made Hajime’s facial expression relax. A bit too much, obviously, as Kuroo showed a deep frown a moment later.

“What’re you phasin’ out for? Him, again?” Kuroo snorted in disbelief, and only when Oikawa had left the aisle Hajime was finally able to concentrate back onto Kuroo. Too much had happened recently between the guard and the prisoner to not get a bit distracted by his endearing personage. And, even if he felt a bit sorry for Kuroo, but at the moment Oikawa was definitely the better partner to converse to. _Yeah, just… converse._

“It’s… complicated”, Hajime admitted, slowly but steadily giving up the thought that he would someday be able to shake off those inappropriate feelings for Oikawa. “He’s… I dunno… _captivating_ , to say the least.” When Kuroo didn’t answer Hajime turned around, and frowned when he saw Kuroo’s dumbfounded glance.

“What?”

“Captivating?”, Kuroo scoffed, and turned around to look through the windowpane, “hadn't thought of you havin’ such a word in your vocabulary.”

“Fuck off”, Hajime murmured, and Kuroo yapped out an amused laugh. Hajime groaned, and brushed his hands violently through his face. “God, I’m so… please, don’t mention this to Akaashi.”

“We usually don’t talk about much about work”, Kuroo said, and Hajime was a tad upset about the fact that his recent crumbling love life obviously counted as ‘work’ to Kuroo.

“Ah, do you even do something coming close to _talking_?” Hajime waggled his eyebrows, and Kuroo could nothing but grins.

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even mean to, but somehow Kuroo always comes out like a bloating asshole (҂⌣̀_⌣́) He's really not, promise! But he's got his story to tell, too...!


	14. 243

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a few seconds of your time to thank you all for your Kudos and Comments! Really, one single comment sometimes can be all the encouragement one needs to write further - at least I feel that way ^^  
> FYI Nr. 1, I switched to present tense, and I'll probably rewrite the previous chapters as time goes by, but I'm pretty sure I won't change anything major about the plot, so there's no need to re-read them.  
> FYI Nr. 2, I'm not really sure about next weeks update schedule, wednesday's the first day of university, and the week after the next I'm on a vacation in greece, so... sorry if there's some delay, I surely won't let you down on purpose! ٩( ᐛ )و
> 
> Have fun reading, and comment if you like!

Thinking about Oikawa has become a daily, if not hourly event for Hajime. There’s almost nothing he does without at least a tiny shred of _Oikawa, Oikawa_ in his mind.

_No, Tooru._

Since Oikawa had asked Hajime to address him with his first name he’d hardly never used it, though. He’s too much afraid someone could eavesdrop on their already pretty inappropriately frequent conversations. Not that the topics they’re talking about are indecent, in any kind of way. Mostly they talk about their resembling childhood in the same neighborhood, about the old, weird cat-lady down the road, or about the sexy, red-lipped cashier working in the video rental, whose skirt had always been a tiny bit too short for it to be unobtrusive.

It’s silly, almost, how they have always been at the same places, but not at the same time. Silly, and for Hajime, a bit sad. He really wishes he would have met Oikawa under better – different circumstances. Sure, the brown-haired prisoner is pretty annoying, and sometimes irritatingly childish, with all his pouting and whiny bitching whenever Hajime laughs about his crude demeanors, or scolds him for his much too flirty attitude.

… not that Hajime minds _that_ a lot, though.

He’s almost inclined to say he’s come to like the way Oikawa’s always sitting a bit too close, is always touching Hajime with his elbow or knee, or sometimes grazes his fingertips over Hajime’s prickling skin when no one else’s around. 

Hajime really wants to talk to Oikawa, more and more each day, about all those important and trivial things happening, and he wants to listen to Oikawa’s smooth voice, about whatever the prisoner’s willing to tell Hajime.

Even about his homicides, if necessary.

Maybe one day, when Oikawa’s comfortable enough, Hajime would ask him about his crimes, and maybe, possibly, Hajime would get the answer Tooru denies Akaashi, denies everyone around him.

He really wants to know about it all, not out of mere curiosity, but because he believes he’ll learn a bit more about the _real_ Oikawa Tooru, about the guy hardly no one really knows a lot. It’s hard to admit, and weird to phrase into words, but talking to Oikawa so frequently makes Hajime feel a bit special, even if it’s a crooked, indecent kind of special.

Yeah, Hajime’s willing to dash straight to Oikawa’s cell, and talk to him right away. 

But, as destiny plays out, Hajime’s on forced vacation, for a week and a half, and he’d never been less willing to appreciate a bit of freetime than now. Never before in Hajime’s life had work been that attractive.

… well, who’s he trying to persuade, not his work is the thing that’s _actually_ attractive. 

He sighs, and flops down onto his couch, the springs creaking under his pressure. The glass of sweet white wine in his hand is emptied half a minute later, and the plate on the table filled with egg-over-rice follows soon after. He eyes the drying drop of wine on the glasses’ rim, lost in thought, and asks himself how life would feel like if he could just call Oikawa right now, like any other normal human being. Who the fuck up there had decided that he’s going to fall in love with a convict, one that’s about to get sentenced to death, at worst?

Hajime’s not sure if he’s grounded enough to survive thinking about a dead Oikawa, as buzzed and mentally unstable he is right now. He’s right on the brim of doing something stupid, he’s just feeling it –

Hajime’s phone is vibrating on the table, slowly making its way over the table’s smooth surface, and he watches it, not even remotely willing to talk to someone, until he sees the prison’s number and nothing but dives forward to answer the call. That he almost shatters the wine glass between his fingers out of sheer ambition is surely something to worry about, but that’s a story for some other day.

“Yeah, Iwaizumi here”, he says, and puts the glass aside, wired up and sitting on the couch’s edge, ready to slip back into his work clothes if necessary.

“Iwaizumi”, a dark voice growls, and Hajime needs a moment to associate it to the respective face. “It’s me, Kuroo.”

“Ah, you”, Hajime says dryly, and slumps back between his couch cushions. If he’s supposed to get his ass to work then it would unlikely be Kuroo who’d tell him that. Hajime’s just the slightest bit disturbed by the amount of disappointment he feels. “What’cha want?”

“I want you to make it stop”, Kuroo snarls through clenched teeth, and Hajime frowns, unable to piece Kuroo’s puzzled talk together. “He’s – fuck, he’s so annoying. Please, I just want you to keep his damn mouth shut!”

Hajime snorts out a laugh. “Who? Oikawa?”

“Yeah, that one”, Kuroo says, and for a tiny moment Hajime wonders if Kuroo’s keeping himself from entitling Oikawa with insults for their friendships’ sake. “He’s talking about you, twenty-four seven – A-and he’s driving everyone crazy, I swear to god…! I’m sure the other guards’re off to patrol through the other Blocks just to get away from him.”

Hajime chuckles lightly, and can’t really decide whether he find’s Oikawa’s behavior unsettling, or adoring.

“And… what’m I supposed to do?”, he inquires, and pries himself off the couch to pour himself another glass of wine.

“Please, talk to him”, Kuroo snarls, and Hajime is sure he’s hearing some well-known whining in the background. “I’m inclined to give him our duty telephone, but the chief says that’s too much of an accommodation for a prisoner like -- Arrrgh, shut up, won't you! I swear to god I’ll choke you! Stop buggin’ me, I’m already askin’, see? Jeez…”

“Can’t you bring him to one of the hardline phones?”, Hajime asks, and is sure Kuroo can almost see him grin widely. That Oikawa’s going to go such lengths to be able to talk to Hajime is… _endearing_ , to say the least.

“That’s what I’m going to do”, Kuroo says, and gives out an exasperated sigh afterwards. “I don’t even know how the fuck you get along with him.”

“Believe me, I don’t know either”, Hajime says, and nibbles on his wine, his evening getting a bit brighter with every passing minute. He’s even inclined to draw himself a bath, or sit on his balcony, or… the heck, anything’s fine, as long as it’s with Oikawa talking to him. Hajime’s way past denying his attachment to the charismatic prisoner, even if that’s maybe not the healthiest thing in the world. Hajime _needs_ this, someone to talk to, someone to feel good with, and the fact he’d met Oikawa under the worst conditions possible is not going to change that need.

And… if there’s a little bit of flirting involved, who’s he to disagree?

“So, are you in?”, Kuroo asks, voice heavy with tenseness.

“Yeah, sure”, Hajime answers, and feels his heart beat a bit faster. “Only to spare your nerves, of course.”

“Like I believe you, pal”, Kuroo snorts, “He’s going to call you in a while, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I’ll wait”, Hajime says, and ends the call, his heart fluttering against his chest. He’d seen Oikawa on an almost daily basis during the last few weeks, why’s he so nervous about a simple phone call?

Hajime’s phone buzzes again ten minutes later, and he waits three, four seconds before answering to not seem too desperate.

“Iwa-chan, I’ve missed you so much!”, a weepy voice pipes immediately, and Hajime smirks when he tries to imagine Oikawa holding the old hardline phone receiver in his hand, sitting in one of the shabby cabins, with his puppy eyes and reddened cheeks from the exhaustion of annoying Kuroo up to the brim of rationality. Incidentally, Hajime wonders if Oikawa is alone or if anyone’s with him.

“Shut up, you crybaby”, Hajime says way too gently, but Oikawa lets out a snotty weep, nonetheless. _Is he really that upset?_ “And don’t bug my colleagues.”

“Don’t be so mean”, Oikawa demands, and Hajime hears a bit of a shuffling, wondering if Oikawa’s wiping his face. “I’m not really suited for a lonesome prison life.”

“You’ve been doin’ pretty fine without me in the past”, Hajime says, takes his glass of wine and makes himself comfortable on his couch. “What’cha wanna talk about?”

“Uh, Iwa-chan, have you drunk? You sound a bit off.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m on vacation, I’m allowed to drink alcohol.” He sips on his glass, and hears Oikawa scoff lowly.

“Oi, but there’s no need to get drunk on cheap alcohol”, Oikawa nags, and Hajime cocks an eyebrow even though Oikawa wouldn’t see it.

“Why’re you assuming that my wine’s cheap, dumbass?”, Hajime asks, and crosses his ankles, wondering if the city’s night sky outside his window had always been so full of sparkling stars.

“Because it’s you we’re talking about”, Oikawa says matter-of-factly, and Hajime takes a mental note to sock him one for that remark when his vacation is over. “Wait, you’re drinking wine?”

Hajime scoffs. “Yeah, why not?”

“Don’t be so repellent, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa replied in a mocking tone, “I just had taken you for the beer-kind of guy.”

“Ah, everyone’s got a surprise up his sleeve”, Hajime says playfully, and the fact that he’s able to be _playful_ tells him that he’s indeed a bit too intoxicated for his own good. Oikawa stays silent for a moment, and Hajime only hears the faint background crackling.

“So… you’re alone?”, Oikawa asks, slowly, a bit deeper than before, and Hajime slinks down more in between his comfortable cushions.

“Why should I be with someone?”, Hajime asks, and tries to sip his wine without spilling it, “I’ve told you I live alone.”

“Just askin’”, Oikawa hums, and stays silent again. Hajime knows that the alcohol makes him dumb, but he states his next question, anyways.

“And… you?”

“What’s with me?”

Hajime feels a faint blush creep into his cheeks. “I’m askin’ if… you’re alone.” Hajime can almost see Oikawa smirk voluptuously before his mind’s eye.

“Yeah I am”, he eventually says with a sultry undertone, and Hajime sips the last bit of his wine and puts the glass back onto the table, his hand flopping back lazily onto his stomach. “That Kuroo-guy brought me here, but I think he’d rather hang himself than listening to me any longer.”

“Oh”, Hajime says before he’s even thinking about a more reasonable answer, and knows that this tiny noise maybe tells Oikawa more than a thousand words.

“Oh?”, Oikawa replies with a hum, and Hajime wishes he knew what Oikawa’s doing right now. “Do you… _want_ me to be alone, by chance?”

“Fuck off”, Hajime scoffs in loss for a better answer, and Oikawa chuckles.

“I take that as a yes”, Oikawa says after the chuckle had died off. “So… can I ask you a question, maybe?”

“I’d say ‘whatever you want’, but I doubt that’d be a wise decision”, Hajime says, and realizes by the way he’s smirking that the alcohol is about to drown his inherent reticence. It’s a good buzz, shallow, but enough to loosen his tongue, and since he always feels a bit too tense around Oikawa, feeling calm and laid-back for once is by all means not the worst condition.

“Ow, I’m not that bad”, Oikawa defends, and Hajime can almost see him pout.

“Yeah okay”, he eventually sighs, and brushes his hand through his hair, noting that he really needs to take a bath soon. “C’mon, ask me.” He hears Oikawa puff out a low laugh.

“So… what are you wearin’ right now?”

Hajime raises his eyebrows. “Are you stupid?”, he asks, and nestles with the restrictive collar of his shirt. Suddenly, his apartment gets way too hot for him to feel entirely comfortable.

“Aw, don’t be shy, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa hums, “Come on, answer me. You’ve said I could ask you!”

“But I didn’t say I would answer”, Hajime replies, and hears some shifting in the background. The thought of Oikawa getting himself a bit more comfortable in his lonesome cabin makes Hajime feel kind of funny.  

“Oh pleaaaase”, Oikawa whines, almost purrs, and Hajime sighs heavily. “I’ve never seen you in casual clothes, Iwa-chan. Please, I’m so bored in here, there’s no harm in telling me.”

This is becoming something entirely more than innocuous flirting. It’s a dangerous path Hajime’s about to go, he’s very aware of that even with the alcohol in his system. Giving in to Oikawa’s pleading means head-diving into uncharted waters, and he’s not sure if trusting a convicted murderer is the wisest thing to do. 

“I’m wearin’… noting special, I guess?”, he complies eventually, curiosity winning over reason, and nestles with the hem of his old college shirt that’s gotten a tad too tight due to too much washing and drying. “A shirt, sweats, uhm,… socks?”

“Wow, very appealing”, Oikawa mocks, and Hajime snorts out a laugh afterwards. Oikawa coughs suspiciously. “I’d be a lot better if you… would just ditch the pants, you know…”

“Tooru…”, Hajime warns, and Oikawa’s first name rolls down and out his mouth before he even realizes it. 

“I like you calling me that”, Oikawa says, with a lot more adoration than Hajime’s comfortable with, and once again he racks his brain whether it’s wise to play along with Oikawa’s game. So far Hajime had never given in to Oikawa’s shameful flirting, and if he does it now, he’s probably setting a ball rolling he’s not able to stop afterwards.

But – and that’s the big question – would he even want to stop it?

“You can… call me Hajime”, he says despite all his apprehensions, and hears only silence from the other side, for quite a while. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I am”, Oikawa answers, and his voice is soft, relaxed, in a way that lets Hajime feel his pulse pumping thick blood through his veins. “Have you… thought about the pants?”

“Tooru, I don’t know…”, Hajime answers, and sits up on his couch to work against the lulling buzz inside his head that’s clouding his mind increasingly. “I don’t feel comfortable doin’ this.”

“Then… you can go to bed and make yourself comfortable, I guess”, Oikawa proposes casually, and Hajime’s heart thuds heavily against his chest.

“That’s not what I meant, stupid”, Hajime grumbles, while Oikawa lets out an amused chuckle.

“I know, sorry”, he says, and Hajime could swear something about his breathing’s a bit off. “So, you wanna tell me about your day? What’s Iwa-chan doing in his freetime?”

“Not much”, Hajime answered, and gulps down that tingling sensation of arousal, warm and electrifying beneath his skin. He brushes a hand through his messy hair again, and begins to wander through his apartment. “I’ve… gone shopping, yesterday?”

“For what?”, Oikawa asks, and again Hajime hears this nearly noticeable heaviness in his voice, followed by a shifting in the background.

“Uhm, it’s going to get cold outside, so I needed something like a jacket, or a pullover”, Hajime tells, and listens closely through the telephone’s inherent crackling.

“And – and what did you decide for?”, Oikawa asks, and this time Hajime’s sure his voice sounds a bit strangled. Hajime strolls into his bedroom, examines his bed with thoughtful eyes.

“A pullover”, he answers, slowly, and can no longer keep himself from asking. “Hey, what – what the heck you're doin'?”

“You can – take an educated guess”, Oikawa answers, and this time doesn’t hide the constricted breath accompanying his voice. Hajime inhales deeply, and realizes by now that he feels itchy, too hot and too constrained below his clothes, and doesn't know anymore how much longer he’s able to decline those feelings, those urges that need to be fulfilled.

There they are, right before his eyes and within his grasp, those deep dark waters he’s not able to chart, and he’s one step away from letting himself fall into them blindsided, not knowing whether he would come out of them alive and sane. Playing along with Oikawa’s dangerous games means a lot of trust, and Hajime’s not sure if he’s truly up for a game of Russian roulette with a fully loaded barrel.

Hajime sits down on his bed, and thinks this through, as much as he can in the shortness of time. He’s not sure if he’s truly willing to cross that line separating superficial feelings and profound adoration, the thin border that keeps him from making himself vulnerable. As the saying goes, 'love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to', and what Oikawa is asking from Hajime has a lot to do with trust; trust to not put everything he has in the balance only to get hurt in return.

“Talk to me, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa bids, softly, “what’s on your mind right now?”

Hajime closes his eyes for a moment, and then lays on his side, lets his head rest on the soft pillow, phone cramped between the silken cover and his cheek. 

“You could… ask me again what I’m wearing”, he suggests, and toys absently with the band of his sweats. Oikawa lets out a hummed chuckle, and then, a breathy moan, just a tiny, shallow noise that makes Hajime’s whole body tingle in excitement.

“What are you wearing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	15. 235

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from greece! And I've survived the introduction days at university ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ So, to prepare mentally for my courses I've finished another chapter of this hell - ahem, joyride of a fic, and I really hope you like the story so far! Comment, or come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/) if you like!

Clarification, Hajime knows, comes always crashing down like light suffusing the night’s heavy thickness, tears its cloth of secrecy apart like a sharp blade through a piece of paper.

In Hajime’s case, clarification comes in the form of an offhand phone call from Akaashi, at about one thirty in the afternoon. Hadn't Hajime’s night been a bit shortened due to unforeseen circumstances he would be wide awake at this hour, but he’s still lying in bed, dozing off occasionally, recalling and evaluating the decisions he’d made last night.

Back then, the pants had been off faster than Hajime had expected them to, his decency flown off together with his sweats, and he’d listen to Oikawa, to the sultry things he’d said, to the moaning and panting and shuddering of the other one, until Hajime had been pushed over the edge. Oikawa had been there, right inside his mind, lulling his nerves and pushing away every leftover hesitation Hajime had had before. The imagination of Oikawa lying next to him on his bed, naked and thoroughly satiated from the blissful repercussions should have been incenting, but after Hajime had come down from his high the loss of another warm body beside him made his insides twinge in deep sadness.

Oikawa had stayed on the phone afterwards for a long time, had talked with his soothing voice until Hajime felt the approaching heaviness of sleep tugging him in, and Oikawa had bid him a good night’s rest, with such an enormous mass of genuine affection seeping out his mouth and through the speaker that Hajime yearned for him to be there, approachable, touchable, _kissable_. The first thing on his mind when Hajime woke up the following day had been the thought of how nice it would have been with Oikawa there, probably drooling and snoring like the slob he was, with tousled hair but otherwise beautiful and warm and cozy, and everything Hajime wished to see first thing in the morning.

With Oikawa in the back of his mind, and the long… _talk_ they’d had the night prior, Hajime feels as if he needs at least another six hours of sleep. The faint hangover he has from the sickly sweet wine that’s still lingering on his tongue doesn’t really aid his fight against the urge to fall back into his sheets, pull the pillow over his eyes and escape the world for a little while longer.

“I’m aware you’re on vacation, Hajime-kun”, Akaashi just about purrs through the speaker, and Hajime feels his body respond to his calm, soothing voice like a lamp to a light switch. Low electric sparks run through his skin, and he turns around to lie flat on his stomach, phone pressed lopsidedly against his ear. “But I’d like to invite you to come to my office.”

“Is that really necessary?”, Hajime murmurs, talks halfway into his pillow, and realizes with a mild tingle in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite persuade himself to give Akaashi a decent answer. Usually he’s like a dog waggling his excited tail whenever gorgeous-as-fuck Akaashi-san asks something of him, but today… Oikawa had sure pulled some strings the right way last night.

“I apologize for the inconvenience”, Akaashi replies, and if he’s disturbed by Hajime’s lukewarm answer he doesn’t show it. “But yes, your attendance is of great importance, for both mine… and your private concerns.”

Hajime frowns into the pillow, and suddenly, a hushed remembrance of Oikawa’s voice, silently moaning Hajime’s name echoes lightly through his mind and makes him shiver all over. With an unintended smirk against the pillowcase he remembers the way his toes had gone numb, and he rolls his hips against the delicious friction of his wadded blanket before he even realizes what he’s doing. That Akaashi is still on the phone and could maybe hear the soft, silent shuffling of his body working against the blanket is the last thing on his mind right now.

“I’d offer you to invite you for a coffee somewhere, but unfortunately I’m a bit behind my work schedule, lately”, Akaashi says after a moment. Hajime keeps himself from grinding any more against his bedsheets and hopes he’s not breathing too suspiciously when he answers.

“It’s fine, Akaashi-san”, he says, switching the phone from one sweaty hand to the other, “I just – I might need an hour or two.”

“That’s no problem at all, we can meet after work hours. Does around eight sound good to you?” Akaashi hesitates for a moment. “And… you know, you could call me Keiji, if you like.”

“That’s… Keiji, yeah, great”, Hajime says, and fears he’s getting caught when he stays on the phone any longer. His hardening cock is pleasantly trapped between his stomach and the bedding, and it’s almost a bit too much for that time of the day. He’s still too sensitive from the way Oikawa had encouraged him last night, had purred sweet nothings and utter filth into his ear while Hajime pumped himself through a devastating orgasm, and he’s not even sure if he’s truly willing to get off right now. It feels too _good_ , though, the friction and pressure to his cock’s head enough to make him want more, _more_ , the thought of Oikawa endearing, saturating, only perfected by the presence of Akaashi’s voice and bid to call him by his first name. Hajime’s almost inclined to test whether Akaashi’s given name can be moaned as good as he’s imagining it, when Akaashi coughs slightly and remembers Hajime of his actual presence.

“I’ll… see you then, Hajime?”, he asks, and Hajime wonders if Akaashi’s aware of the way his voice spurs him on. “It’s maybe a more… business-related matter we need to talk about, but… I would be glad to have you here.”

Hajime’s heart pumps thick blood through his body, and he tastes a sweet drop of adrenaline on his tongue. He’s not sure if it’s still solely Oikawa on his mind, or if it’s Akaashi’s voice that’s driving him closer to the edge, but then, it’s not like he strives to write a fucking master’s thesis about the reasons one has to get off first thing in the morning. He quickly presses the phone’s microphone against the fluffy pillow and groans out a shuddery breath, hoping strongly that Akaashi hadn't heard that.

“Oh, yeah, ‘course. See you later”, Hajime answers nonchalantly after regaining his breath, just barely containing another deep growl, before he ends the call abruptly and tosses the phone aside. With one quick motion he lifts his hips to kneel on his bed and plunges his hand into his underwear, pumping his length _hard_ , determined to fucking fall over the edge as fast as possible. The visions and images in his mind blend into each other, he sees Oikawa’s cheeky but hellishly beautiful face, hears his tantalizing voice speaking out filthy sins, and then, it shifts, and he hears Akaashi, imagines the psychologist’s lazy bedroom eyes, imagines the ever-so-stimulating fantasy of shoving the clobber off his office’s desk and drive his dick to the hilt into Akaashi’s heat, wishing he could just see the composed doctor lose his temper for just fucking once --

Hajime comes with a shudder, violently, against his blanket, and clenches his hand around his pulsating cock until he’s sure he’s pumped every last drop of cum out of every leftover cavern in his testicles.

He breathes heavily, and slumps back sideways onto the sheets, boneless, careful to not fall into the sticky mess he’s caused. He examines his bedroom’s walls with hazy eyes, grins, and grumbles out a laugh a second later, ridicules the way he’s transforming back into a horny teenager again. He’s crushing over a fucking prisoner in a fucking high security prison, who’s about to get sentenced to death, and stupidly enough, Hajime’s fucking _relieved_ that he’s able to formulate that thought so bluntly. And, to add misery to the mix of self-torture and confusion, there’s that fucking gracious god of a psychologist who’s flirting like mad with him, and Hajime snickers like a maniac and brushes his hands through his sleep-crumpled face, amused about himself and the whole trainwreck his life has obviously become.

If that’s the emotional state of mind on has to be in to kill eleven human beings in a murderous frenzy, then Hajime’s one step closer towards understanding Oikawa’s reasons.

 

*

 

Hours later, when the sun is already setting on that strangely windless September day, Hajime is walking up the aisle towards Akaashi’s office, as unobtrusively as possible. He had to show his ID to the guard on the entrance, but other than that he sees no one he knows by name on his way. To say the least, he’s glad he’s running into no one of importance, though he’s inclined to take a detour to Oikawa’s cell later, even though he doesn’t even remotely know how to address their recent phone call and the associated nightly activities.

“Ah, Hajime-san, you’ve come”, Akaashi says politely, and for a tiny, nerve-wracking moment Hajime notices Akaashi wears only a short-sleeved baby blue button-down and a skin-tight jeans, an attire that makes Hajime’s blood churn uncomfortably. “Come in, take a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks”, Hajime says and sits down on one of the cozy chairs, watching Akaashi as he strolls towards the large, old-fashioned bureau in the back of the room, searching around until he’s found what he’s looking for.

“I’m not talking about tea, or coffee”, Akaashi says when he turns around with a smirk, and shakes a half-emptied bottle of what seems to be whiskey, bringing it to the table together with two crystal glasses, finely polished and glimmering in the office’s low light. When Akaashi pours them some of the golden liquid he looks like a model straight out of those old-fashioned jack daniel’s ads they air only when the children’re already gone to bed. Akaashi cocks a smirk when he takes note of the way Hajime’s watching him, and he puts the bottle aside (but not back into the bureau, Hajime notices) and sits beside Hajime in the other chair.

“I’m glad you came”, Akaashi says, and crosses his legs, gracefully like an antelope. “Sometimes my work’s really giving me headaches.”

“It’s impressive how you manage to not get crazy by the amount of sick shit you hear every day”, Hajime flatters, and lifts his glass of whiskey, but before he’s able to take a sip Akaashi insist with a gesture to clink their glasses together, showing Hajime one of those endearing smiles of his.

“It’s hard, sometimes”, Akaashi answers, “to not get crazy, I mean. But with the right kind of distraction it’s manageable.”

“What… kind of distractions?”, Hajime asks, and amazed by the amount of ambiguity he’s able to put into his words. Maybe Oikawa’s rubbing off on him.

“Oh, the usual”, Akaashi answers, and sips on his drink, the fluid leaving a thin wet film on his upper lip, and Hajime drinks the sight in like a parched man. “I’m trying to go for a jog regularly, though the emphasis is truly on ‘trying’.” Akaashi smirks, and chuckles quietly over his own statement, and Hajime is entranced by the casual appearance the doctor hides so well behind his professional façade. “I’m painting quite a lot lately, too.”

“Painting?”, Hajime asks, not the slightest bit surprised by the sophisticated doctor who keeps himself fit with jogs.

“Yes, on canvas, but I’m not exactly talented.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are”, Hajime says, and downs the rest of his whiskey in one go. If the delicacy of one’s hands is an indicator for a good painter, then Akaashi probably excels Picasso and Da Vinci a thousandfold.

“You should savor that a bit more”, Akaashi remarks, and nods to the now emptied glass. “Ah, what am I saying, it’s not even that great.”

“I think it’s pretty… tasty?”, Hajime answers, in loss for a better word, but Akaashi nods in understanding, nonetheless. “Uhm, you’ve said you wanna talk with me about something?”

“Ah, yes”, Akaashi says and leans a bit closer, rests his elbows on his knees. His button-down is wide enough for Hajime to take a glimpse of his pale, defined collarbones, soft skin spanning over lithe muscles, shifting with Akaashi’s every move. “I’ve… happen to know that you’ve talked with Oikawa yesterday. Via telephone.”

Hajime palpably tenses. Had Kuroo eavesdropped on them? _He fucking knew that –_

“Every hardline call gets recorded and listened to by one of the prison’s higher employees, if you get what I’m implying.” Akaashi sips his drink, slowly and meaningful, and Hajime feels his heart sink into his pants.

_ShitFucking – What a – fuck!_

Nothing more than an incoherent jumble of curses fly through his brain. _Fuck!_ Hajime has the immediate urge to loosen his collar. Whatever multitude of fear and embarrassment runs through his bones seems to wail up onto the surface, because Akaashi leans back casually and gives Hajime a comforting look.

“You’ve got lucky that I’ve been one of the few higher employee around yesterday evening”, he says, and Hajime’s shoulder slump down, every tiny ounce of breath leaving him at once. “I’ve… listened a bit to your conversation, and I’m quite surprised by the closeness you’ve already reached.”

“Akaashi-san, I’m so – I wasn’t exactly planning on –“

“No, no, my apologies”, Akaashi breaks in, and Hajime’s mouth falls shut. “I won’t pry, and I can reassure you that I’ve disconnected the recording as soon as I knew your conversation’s… drift to a more private matter, so to say.”

“Then… you haven’t…? I mean, no one has…?” Hajime’s not even remotely able to end his sentences properly. The embarrassment about yesterday’s events and all those feelings he’d admitted to was as bad in itself, but no other than Akaashi fucking-beautiful-Keiji had listened to their opportune phone sex? That was the final nail in the figurative coffin.

“No”, Akaashi says gently, and brushes a curly lock of dark hair aside. “No one knows about… your _relationship_ with Oikawa-san, and I’m intended to keep it that way.”

“Why?” Hajime asks before he’s given it another thought. “I – I mean, not that I don’t appreciate that, but… uhm, you’re a man of – uh, the law? Why’re you helping me – us?”

Akaashi leans forward in his chair, and shifts until his knee touches Hajime’s.

“Because…”, he says casually, and toys with the rim of his glass, “I came to like you, Hajime. And I don’t think that you’re doing any harm on purpose. If you’re going to delve further into that relationship, be assured I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as it’s not affect anyone else, or the ongoing investigations. Though…”

Hajime frowns, wonders how someone’s able to flirt so openly while encouraging his object of desire to pursue yet _another_ relationship.

“I’d only ask you to be on guard, regarding Oikawa Tooru”, Akaashi spoke further, and looked eyes with Hajime for a brief moment. “There’s more to his personality than he’s showing in your vicinity. I’ve talked to him almost a thousandfold, and I knew what he had done, and I don’t…” Akaashi looked down, away from Hajime, as if the next statement makes him a bit uncomfortable, “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re… way too valuable to come to grief because of him.”

“I’ll… take that into consideration”, Hajime answers, not knowing what kind of ‘valuable’ Akaashi’s referring to. Valuable for the investigations? Valuable as a spy? Valuable to Akaashi in a private sense? No matter the reasons, Hajime feels incredibly flattered by the way Akaashi’s valuing his persona, like he’s not just a petty college dropout earning the minimum wage who lives in a worn-down apartment in the city’s worst neighborhood. “W-wait, you said like, I mean… _like_ like, or…?” _Great, now I’m transforming back into a middle schooler again._

Akaashi chuckles adorably, and Hajime presses his palms against his eyes, wishing for the carpet floor to swallow him whole.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a _like_ like”, Akaashi mimics him, and chuckles again when Hajime can’t hold his skin back from blushing vividly. “I don’t intend to make you feel uncomfortable, though. I’ve just felt like telling you this, so you… won't get the wrong impression of my concern about your wellbeing.”

Akaashi blinks, with long, fine eyelashes, and Hajime feels a vicious shiver running down his spine and straight into his crotch. The doctor sure knows how to get the point across. Hajime’s amused, inwardly, about how much he and Oikawa were alike, and how much they don’t; Oikawa’s a blazing wildfire, a whirlwind, came thrashing into Hajime’s life and turned it upside down at his leisure. Akaashi, on the other hand, is the billowing sea, calm, soothing, addressing everything inside Hajime’s mind that needs to be comforted, needs the attention Akaashi’s readily giving him. But, and Hajime can’t believe that he’s the lucky one to be in the middle of this fucked-up love triangle, they’re both radiating such a raw, unconfined sexuality, that every lesser man would probably turn to a glob of unrequited arousal… who’s he kidding, another seductive glance from Akaashi in his direction and Hajime’s going to shove Akaashi’s beautiful face into the carpet floor and relieve him of that fucking tight pair of pants he’s wearing.

“Whelp, enough of the gloomy talk”, Akaashi says, leans back again and loosely claps his hands onto his knees. “Do you… maybe want to grab a bite? I haven’t gotten to eat since morning, and there’s that nice little Italian I’d like to try.”

“I, uh…”, _Smooth, Hajime, your best answer so far._ “I don’t really know if –“

“Come on”, Akaashi says with a come-hither look. “It’s just dinner. I’m paying, of course.”

“What.. what about Kuroo?”, Hajime asks in a sudden streak of guilt. Going out with your ex-roommate’s may-or-may-not-be love interest is maybe not the smartest thing to do, friendship-wise.

“Hm?”, Akaashi asks, and lifts a beautifully shaped eyebrow, “I don’t know what he has to do with that.”

“I, ah… thought you were… a thing, somehow?” Hajime cringed by hearing his own words. Akaashi shows him a slightly confused look.

“No, we’re not”, he says matter-of-factly, “he’s just a friend, that’s all. Had he told you otherwise?”

“No – no he hadn't!”, Hajime says defensive. Kuroo hadn't implied anything about them being in some kind of relationship, but there was something about the whole affair that couldn’t quite convince Hajime to believe that. No one is just friends with Kuroo Tetsurou. Heck, Hajime had almost experienced that firsthand during their mutual college year – emphasis: almost. They’ve never crossed _that_ line, but… two guys just can’t live as roommates without experiencing at least _some_ dubious scenes, where one of them – Kuroo – runs around their kitchen butt-naked and grinning like the Cheshire cat after some especially intoxicated night. He’s tempting, and unashamedly aware of his bodily merits, and most of the time Hajime was torn between pushing Kuroo’s head into the garbage can, or the bedsheets. He’s not willing to believe Kuroo had changed much over the years, and being long-term friends with someone as engrossing as Akaashi is just not possible.

“Good”, Akaashi says, cocking a smirk, “Otherwise it’d be bad for his health.”

Hajime stares at Akaashi, and when he realized that the doctor had just made a fucking joke at Kuroo’s charge he snorts out a laugh, relaxes visibly and slumps back into the chair.

“So, dinner, then?” Akaashi asks, and Hajime sighs thoughtfully before answering. _Well, what the hell._

“Fine, let’s go”, he replies eventually, and watches Akaashi as he stands up and stores the bottle of whiskey back into the bureau.

 

*

 

They don’t stop at dinner, of course. After a palatable meal at a cozy Italian’s Akaashi persuades Hajime to go grab another drink in a  bar nearby. Hajime soon realizes that the easygoing atmosphere, with its chill music and colorful fairy lights doesn’t count for the drinks they serve. He’s already slightly buzzed from the first damn strong Whiskey Sour he’d ordered, and he’d fancy one of those Caipirinhas – given he’s still sitting upright later. Akaashi toys with the stem of his Manhattan, and its dark crimson color casts a colorful shadow on the bar counter. Akaashi’s dark hair and the mild blush on his cheeks (from the alcohol, Hajime assumes) make him almost look divine. Hajime was sure, if Aphrodite and Bacchus had had a child, it had probably been Akaashi’s ancestor. Hajime snorts out a shallow laugh, amused that he’s obviously a lyrical romantic when he’s drunk.

“What’s going through your head?”, Akaashi asks with a relaxed smile, and Hajime guesses he’d seen him grin like a goof.

“Oh, nothing, really”, Hajime says, and takes a sip from his drink, hisses afterwards. _That’s really a_ sour _whiskey_. Akaashi stays silent, nestles with his drink, and Hajime’s mouth goes before he’s really noticing it. “No, to be honest, I thought about how good-looking you are.”

Akaashi’s face immediately turns as crimson as his drink, and Hajime’s eyes widen almost comically. Drinking makes Hajime stupid, and drinking two days in a row makes him _blatantly_ stupid, obviously.

“I, err, I mean”, Hajime babbles helplessly, and wrestles with the neck of his cardigan, “I – I was wondering why someone like you wanted to become a psychologist – i-in a prison like Seijou.” _What the fuck, Hajime? What kind of transition is that supposed to be?_

Akaashi harrumphs, and takes a breath before answering, the color slowly leaving his cheeks.

“It’s not that I had wanted to, originally”, he says, and sounds as collected as ever, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always wanted to become a psychologist, but for children, not for… criminals. I’ve… had a hard time finding an employment after university, though, and the job at Seijou was more of a last straw than a real solution.”

“Children?”, Hajime probed, and Akaashi nodded.

“I guessed I would have none of my own, so working with them is a great opportunity”, Akaashi says, and even though that’s a disturbingly negative view on his future he seems not the slightest bit distressed. “Given I don’t wake up one day with a preference for women”, he adds with a telltale smirk and sips on his drink, the crimson tinting his lips redder than they already are. Gradually, and with a side glance to the doctor’s genuine look Hajime feels the tension leave his body, once again. How the fuck is Akaashi able to make him feel flustered and excited simultaneously? With a bit of guilt Hajime suddenly realizes he hadn't thought about Oikawa since he’d set the first step into the doctor’s office.

… Oikawa, with his soothing voice, his words that made Hajime’s skin prickle, his toes curl, and his brain feeling like fuzzy goo… Oikawa, whom Hajime himself hadn't touched at all lately, and who’s still able to crawl into the back of his mind and make himself a home, only because he’s _existing_. Hajime’s not sure whether Akaashi’s able to elicit the same juvenile excitement in Hajime; the same, overflowing urge to be physically and emotionally close to someone… Akaashi _is_ attractive, of course, and perhaps a good catch, but he’s addressing entirely different needs in Hajime – but! Akaashi’s right here, in the outside world, available and not confined by prison walls and steel bars. Hajime knowns, the comparison is a bit unfair, and he has the sudden desire to talk to Oikawa, to not feel that bad about drinking with another man when Oikawa pines away in his lonesome cell. 

_But, hadn't Oikawa had caused that state all by himself?_

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours, Hajime-kun?”, Akaashi asks, and before Hajime can react the doctor leans forward and puts his index finger against Hajime’s forehead, tapping softly against the heated skin.

“I, ah…”, Hajime murmurs like a doofus, and suddenly feels Akaashi’s bodily warmth, sloshing right across their physical distance and under his skin, and he almost hiccups excitedly when Akaashi swipes his hand down, over his temple, the side of Hajime’s ear, and then cups his cheek a moment later. Akaashi’s eyes are colored in a deep dark brown, blown wide and he has that bedroom look that makes Hajime’s heart beat like a sledgehammer. Hajime’s got another mere second to breathe, then Akaashi leans forward, and slots their lips together, and Hajime lets out a silent but embarrassingly obvious sigh against the other one’s mouth. Akaashi’s lips are soft, and taste like the Manhattan, and Hajime has no choice but to lean in and reciprocate the gesture. Akaashi sighs, unconcealed, and slides closer until their knees bump together, ignoring the way it probably looks for the bar’s other visitors. _The heck_ , Hajime’s giving a fuck for anyone’s opinion right now, he’s sure that every man who would come to kiss Akaashi would seriously question his orientation. Akaashi’s a damn good kisser, and there’re not even tongues involved right now. Hajime savors the feeling, the taste, the heat and the noises Akaashi makes, and wonders if kissing Oikawa would be the same, or entirely different. His heart leaps against his chest, and suddenly, Hajime knows that what he’s doing is wrong. He breaks the kiss, gentle but insistent, and lifts his hand to place it above Akaashi’s.

“I’m… sorry, but I can’t do this”, he says, softly, nearly a whisper, and sees Akaashi’s eyes flutter close for a long second, a knowing smile on his lips. “I’m flattered, Keiji, but… I just can’t.”

Akaashi draws away, and still smiles lopsided. Hajime’s just half a breath away from strangulating himself to death on the ceiling fan, because Akaashi had kissed him and Hajime, the morally jackass he is had stopped him. _Fucking fuck –_

“No it’s… fine, really”, Akaashi says, as calm as ever, wiping away a leftover drop of saliva of his lips’ corner, “It’s good when a man has priorities. I like that.” He smiles, genuinely, and maybe he’s really not as disturbed as Hajime had thought in the first place. “But I don’t want you to get hurt, nonetheless. You’re… a way too kindhearted person to get hurt by him. And… even though I may not be in the position to tell you this, but…” he sighs, and looks down at Hajime like he’s an opportunity that had slipped through Akaashi’s grasp, the his eyes dart back up, “Don’t lend yourself to the illusion that Oikawa is anything more than a common murderer. He might feign to be someone else, but as time goes by you’ll realize that, too. I don’t want you to realize that too late.”

“Keiji, I’m… glad for your honest opinion, but –“

“No, I’m sorry”, Akaashi intervenes, waving his hand, “It’s not my place to tell you this, I know. But…” He looks down to where his hands fold over his lap, evaluating. “Maybe I should give you access to the tapes I’ve recorded of my recent interrogations with Oikawa. I don't intend to force my opinion on you, but I think they're... pretty telling.”

“Oh,” Hajime let’s out, agreeably surprised by the sudden opportunity. “Okay. Well, I – I think about it, okay?”

Akaashi nods, and turns around to face the counter and his drink again while Hajime wonders if it would be possible to choke himself with a piece of lime. Why the fuck’s he so dumb to reject Akaashi? Hadn't the doctor been his subject of desire for so long? What had Oikawa done to him?

They get back to easy banter faster than Hajime had supposed. Akaashi is a god with words, and if he’s hiding any kind of hurt or confusion, then he hides it very well. Later that night, when they part, Hajime doesn’t really know how to say goodbye to Akaashi. Should he shake his hand? Give him a hug? – the manly kind of hug, not the girlish, soft one –

Akaashi wipes all of Hajime’s thought out the window when he leans forward and places a short kiss on Hajime’s cheek, smiling politely before he turns around and calls a cab – of course the considerate doctor wouldn’t drive by himself, intoxicated and all – and then Hajime’s on his own, in the dim, chilly street, wondering if he should order a cab for himself or if he should just jump right in front of one.

He snorts, laughs weirdly about his stupidity, tucks his hands deep into his jacket’s pockets and walks down the street – half an hour, maybe a whole hour – to get rid of the buzz in his skull and the grave assumption that he’s probably the single moronic soul on earth who’d ever rejected a man as perfect as Akaashi Keiji in favor for a murder sitting behind steel bars in a prison, who’s, with each passing day, closer to receive his well-deserved death sentence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's admit it, everyone of us would just seep through the floor if we'd ever get the chance to kiss Akaashi (๑ˊ͈ ॢꇴ ˋ͈)〜♡॰ॱ


	16. 224

Oikawa hadn't called Hajime again during his vacation, and Hajime couldn’t really tell if that’s relieving, or concerning.

Maybe Oikawa had had his game with Hajime, and getting off once had maybe been enough to calm his libido.

Otherwise, Hajime knows it‘s unfair to judge about him so quickly. He’s a murderer, yeah, but there’re a lot of murderers in the world that are, in fact, caring spouses, or affectionate parents, and so far Oikawa hadn't done anything to Hajime that could justify any wrongful doubt. Oikawa had always been a bit too handsy, a bit too flirty, and a whole lot too intrusive, but otherwise there hadn't been a single misconduct from his side.

And Hajime’s willing to believe that whatever Oikawa wants from Hajime is genuine.

However his beliefs, the tape Akaashi shows Hajime, right now in his office after work hours, puts Hajime’s convincement to an acid test.

Oikawa’s sitting there, at the table in the interrogation room that’s located straight below Akaashi’s office, and the smirk the prisoner wears is outright obnoxious. He’s slouching in his chair, legs crossed and one arm thrown over the chair’s back, like he’s waiting for a model job, and not for being interrogated by Akaashi. Because of the skewed camera angle Hajime can only see the back of Akaashi’s head, dark locks curling over the rim of his turtleneck pullover, making Hajime wonder if the doctor’s hair would be as soft to the touch as it looks. The time stamp in the lower left corner says this record is from around the time where Hajime had dragged Oikawa out onto the court on visitation day.

“Oikawa-san”, Akaashi begins, and taps a pencil against the clipboard in his hands, “tell me, how are you today?”

Oikawa snorts, and creases his face in derision.

“It’s great here, really”, Oikawa mocks, and shifts on his chair, fluffy hair flopping over his forehead, “The hygiene – top notch. Oh, and the room service is awesome, and the meals – hm, four stars, at least.”

“Oikawa, please”, Akaashi says, unfazed, “I was just meant to be polite, so if you don’t want to be taken –“

“No, no, sorry”, Oikawa says, and brushes his hair out of his face. He sighs deeply before talking further. “I’m not great, but I don’t really think that matters much to you folks. So please, spare me the courtesies and ask whatever questions you have on your little clipboard.”

Akaashi stays silent for a moment, looks down and flips a page of the aforementioned clipboard, while Oikawa stares at the doctor, taxes him with an uninterpretable look.

“Are you… willing to tell me about some of your homicides?”, Akaashi asks calmly, and Oikawa doesn’t even flinch by the sudden shift of topic. “I know we’ve tried to advance this topic more often recently, and I’m aware of your refusal to tell me more. But if you’re unwilling to talk about it with _me_ , then the law – and especially the judges and jury – will get to their own decision, and that probably won't turn out to your benefit.”

Even through the flickering screen Hajime feels the tension between the inmate and the doctor rising, and right before he believes Akaashi’ll end the interrogation Oikawa puffs, uncrosses his legs and props his elbows onto his knees, cogitates.

“Who do you wanna know about?”, he asks, without any palpable emotion, and Akaashi needs a moment to flip through his papers before he answers.

“What about… Ah, Goshiki Tsutomu? Do you remember him?”

“Of course”, Oikawa responds with a quirked eyebrow, as if Akaashi had insulted him. Then, his mood changes instantly. Oikawa sits upright, eyes drawn to the ceiling as if he’s describing the experience of his first date, soft smile tugging at his lips. “Sweet, innocent Goshiki-kun… He was, ah… _great_ in bed. Inexperienced, yeah, but he instinctively knew which buttons to press. I had almost dozed off next to him – he’s a cuddler, you know.”

Akaashi stays silent, makes short notes onto his clipboard, while Oikawa hums, breathes in and sinks even deeper into the memory on his former lover – and victim.

“He was… caressing my belly, you know”, Oikawa hums, “I mean, afterwards, like we’re lovers. He would’ve been a great lover for someone else, but… whelp, that’s how life goes – or death, I guess.”

Oikawa flops his palms onto his knees, to emphasize the casualness of his statement, and for the first time Hajime feels uncomfortable to look into that chocolate brown eyes, which had seen so much death, so much pleas and bidding, the same eyes Hajime had somewhat fallen in love with. _It’s not love_ , he corrects himself, and does everything to hide his inner turmoil from the real Akaashi, who sits behind his desk and pretends to fills out some paperwork. _It’s just… infatuation._

“Why did you do it?”, the Akaashi on the record asks, as collected as ever, as if he hadn't just heard the disgusting things coming from Oikawa. “Kill him, I mean. If he had been… such a good lover.”

Oikawa shrugs, and absently watches his fingernails.

“There has to be a reason, Oikawa-san”, Akaashi insists, and slowly, hesitantly, Oikawa leans forward again, with a meaningful expression as if he’s pondering where to begin.

“Do you know how it feels to kill someone?”, Oikawa asks, and Hajime knows he’s dead-serious. “To be the one responsible for another human’s survival? Do you know how it feels to see someone else’s whole existence trickle right through your fingers?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know”, Akaashi answers unvarnished, and Oikawa cocks a smirk. He leans back and slots his fingers together, talks further only when he’d managed to pop every single of his finger’s joints.

“Did you have a reason to pursue your desired career?”, Oikawa asks eventually, and gives Akaashi no time to actually answer that. “Do you have a reason to wear that pullover? That fuck-me jeans whenever that bedhead-guard’s on his night shift?

“Oikawa –“, Akaashi intervenes lowly, but Oikawa ignores him.

“I’m askin’ you, pretty doctor-san, do you have a single reason to be gay?”, Oikawa pries, his words nothing less that threatening.

“Oikawa-san, I don’t know what’s that got to do with my personal preferences, but –“

“You don’t need a reason”, Oikawa summarizes, and leans further in, silencing Akaashi once again. “You don’t need one – _fuckin’_ reason to do what you want to do, and _I_ did nothing else. If you want to do something, then you don’t need a reason at all. For me, all I wanted to do is kill Goshiki-kun, as well as all the other ones. The sex was just an enjoyable surplus.”

The only movement comes from the pencil in Akaashi’s hand, taking note of whatever he thinks is worth mentioning, while Oikawa waits for the doctor to react to his dramatic assumption – a reaction he probably won't get.

“What about”, Akaashi checks his clipboard again, “Oohira Reon?”

Oikawa scrunches his nose, and by now Hajime has learned enough about him to know that Akaashi’s missing reaction makes him furious. Oikawa likes to talk, and _lives_ for his dramatic speeches, and the worst thing he could have would be an unresponsive audience. Hajime ponders about his own responsiveness towards Oikawa, and takes note from the way real-life Akaashi’s hands had stopped moving behind his desk. 

“I’ve met him in a club”, Oikawa says eventually, with a mocking undertone, “I’ve managed to draw him away from the dancefloor, but that dickhead’d rejected me.”

“So you pushed him off the roof?”, Akaashi asks, and suddenly Hajime sees only black, realizing that Akaashi had stopped the record from where he’s sitting.

“Do you understand now what I meant?”, Akaashi asks calmly though unable to keep a frown from crouching onto his forehead. “I think that recording’s the most telling regarding his attitude.”

“I’m… a bit overwhelmed, sorry”, Hajime says, and stands up from his chair to pace around the room, even though that won't probably suffice to compensate for his confusion.

He doesn’t get it.

Who’s that beautiful yet perilous guy on the recording? Surely not the Oikawa Hajime knows. That one on the screen, with the ice cold look and the indifferent opinion about killing other human beings, that one who’d talked so casually about his bloodlust and the need to be responsible for someone else’s life – that’s not the Oikawa he’d talked to that night through the phone, that one who’d made Hajime’s heart flutter and brain come to a stop.

The Oikawa he fell in lo – he’s _infatuated_ with.  

He really needs to have a word with Oikawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know, not much happening here, but I needed the transition...  
> Next chapter's goin' to be gooooooooood *cough*smut*cough*, promise!


	17. 223

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> urrgh, waiter, there're some feelings in my smut...! >____<  
> Enjoy, and comment if you like, or come find me on [Tumblr](https://ira158.tumblr.com/)!

“Laundry. At eight.”

Hajime hadn't meant to hiss it that sharply, but he’s too much biased by the record he’d seen a day prior, too much overwhelmed with the sudden fear of having made a grave mistake when he’d allowed Oikawa to intrude his life like he’d own the place.

Hajime had made sure that no one but Kuroo’s positioned in the guard’s office, shutting off the laundry’s CCTV for an hour or two, until Hajime would return.

… not that he actually believes that Kuroo won’t pry. He’s sure his former roommate’s slouching in one of the office chairs, with his feet on the desk and some chips in his hands, watching the screen with Argus eyes.

Hajime waits for Oikawa to appear, waits and waits, and then, half an hour past eight he’s lazily walking into the room, with his hands in his pants’ pockets, whistling a soundless tune. Hajime doesn’t know if he should jump at Oikawa to kiss him, or kill him, and Oikawa’s casual attitude doesn’t really benefit his chances to stay alive for long.

“I’m so glad you’re back again”, Oikawa says happily, approaches Hajime and tries to grab his hands, except that Hajime dodges his approach quickly. Oikawa cocks a pained expression, more playful than serious, but Hajime’s not up for one of his games tonight. He knows he should be, at least after what they’d shared during that talk on the telephone, but after seeing the other, darker side Oikawa always manages to hide from Hajime he’s not really able to keep his temper at bay.

“We need to talk”, Hajime says as unemotionally as he’s able to, and Oikawa backs off a bit.

“That sounds totally like _that talk_ ”, Oikawa remarks, and leans against the washing machine, eyeing Hajime precariously. “You can’t call it quits, we’re not even da-“

“I don’t want you messin’ with my head, Oikawa”, Hajime blurts in between, and again sees the pained look on Oikawa’s face, realizing that he had addressed him with his last name and not the given name he’d become quite familiar with lately. “Not now, we – we need to discuss – w-whatever that was, on the phone.”

“Oh”, Oikawa says lowly, and peels himself off of the washing machine to approach Hajime again. Hajime closes his eyes for half a second to long, and bites his lower lip to keep himself from angrily hissing at Oikawa, who seems as if he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. He looks like he wants to touch Hajime, with that cautious approach one does when they’re not sure whether a perimeter’s electrified or not. “I’m… I’m sorry, I – can I touch you?”

Hajime’s eyes narrow into slits, but his body does not even flinch when Oikawa wraps his arms around Hajime’s waist, still cautiously, but gentle, gentler than Hajime had thought Oikawa could be capable of. He’s praying to whatever God’s listening that Kuroo’s still shut off – or at least guarding the CCTV, as he’s not entirely eager to give any unwanted bystanders a show.

“You smell so good”, Oikawa hums against the side of Hajime’s hair, and Hajime stays still to feel Oikawa’s body against his, warm and soft, and – much to his chagrin – a tiny bit taller. “I wanted to touch you so bad that day.”

“Me too”, Hajime says quietly, and loosely wraps his arms around Oikawa. “But that’s not what I wanted to say, I…”

Hajime’s thoughts trail off when Oikawa sighs against Hajime’s dark hair, down, further aside, until Hajime feels dry lips pressed against the spot in front of his ear. He curls his fingers into the back of Oikawa’s overall, and closes his eyes, tries to take in every tiny sensation, wants to preserve that feelings for all the times he’s sitting alone, hot and bothered in his lonesome flat.

“Hajime, I – I want to kiss you”, Oikawa says lowly, pleads almost, and maybe that coy attitude is what makes Hajime’s blood boil. His heart thrums against his ribcage when he shrugs Oikawa off, and he lets out a violent puff of air through his nose when he sees Oikawa’s big doe eyes, looking at him like he could never harm a fly.

“You can’t just come here and – and ask me something like this”, Hajime tries to explain circuitously. “I mean, I’m a bit – hey, do you even listen?”

“Yeah I do”, Oikawa says, with a determination like a five-year old attempting to open a jar of cookies while he’s trying to worm his arms back around Hajime’s waist. Hajime dodges Oikawa, and furrows his brows when Oikawa tries once again to touch him, tries to place a kiss against Hajime’s ear, throat, neck, whatever he manages to reach first. Hajime growls, and pushes Oikawa aside harshly.

“Stop it, Oikawa”, he barks, and Oikawa pouts like a preschooler, “I want to talk with you.”

“Yeah I got that”, Oikawa says, “And I want to touch you. So would you please let me do it?“

Oikawa lunges forward, but Hajime grabs his wrists to prevent him from reaching out.

“Keep your hands off of me”, Hajime demands, a bit too much threatening, and shoves Oikawa away again. He doesn’t even want to reject Oikawa’s approaches like this, but right now’s not the time to get handsy. They need to talk about what had happened, and about the recording Hajime had seen, the recording that makes him wonder which one’s the real Oikawa.

“What’s wrong with you?”, Oikawa grumbles, and pulls a childish pout while he crosses his arms. “The other night we’ve, you know… but now, you’re like this!”

“You don’t even _try_ to listen, don’t you?”, Hajime replies, and can’t quite keep himself from scowling. _How hard-headed can one be?_ “I – I don’t want you to _not_ touch me, but we should talk about what happened, get it?”

“No I don’t”, Oikawa retorts like the stubborn child he is, “I mean, what’s there even left to talk about?”

“A – A lot!”, Hajime stutters out loud in annoyance, and brushes a hand through his already tousled hair. Where’s he supposed to begin? “Akaashi, he’d told me –“

“Oh”, Oikawa intervenes, and his face falls flat almost instantly, a bland expression carrying all the disdain he has for the ever-so-perfect doctor. “ _Akaashi_. Of course he’s what this’s about.”

“He’s not – _God_ , since when is talking to you so strenuous?”

“Go talk to pretty Akaashi-san, then”, Oikawa suggest in a mocking tone, and Hajime’s half a brain cell away from strangulating him with his belt. “I bet he’s _oh so_ eager to talk with you.”

“Would you shut the fuck up and listen to me properly?”, Hajime spits, and has to keep himself from thrashing Oikawa’s pretty skull against the laundry’s wall. He’s so furious, so entirely annoyed by Oikawa’s demeanor that the words fall from his mouth before he’s able to think about them. “He’s heard us, Oikawa! He was listening to our conversation! I could get sued for that, dammit – I could lose my job for that! Do you even know how much of a hassle you are?”

Hajime pants like he’d ran a marathon, and Oikawa looks at him as if he’d been spat on.

“Iwa-chan”, he begins, lowly, “I… I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but –“

But Hajime’s not done.

“This isn’t a fuckin’ inconvenience!”, he bellows, and balls his hands into fists, “This is a fucking nightmare! I’m not just here for your amusement, your majesty! You’re – you’re just toyin’ with me – with everyone around you, and I know you don’t give a fuck because, let’s say it as it is – I won't get worse for you!”

Oikawa’s eyes are wet, and he blinks rapidly to keep himself from crying. Hajime sees it, knows he’s gone too far, but he’s not able to stop.

“What’s in for you the worst?”, he taunts, “A lifetime sentence? Death?”

Oikawa bites his lip, and Hajime slowly takes in everything that had stumbled out of his mouth. He’s still panting, and unwilling to apologize to Oikawa instantly even though he knows that what he said is unfair, and worded in the worst way possible. Oikawa stands before him, lifeless, looking like a kicked puppy, and again Hajime is confronted with an yet another completely different side of Oikawa: the ever-so-boisterous, intrusive grand king of Seijou stands there like a true picture of misery, on the brink of crying, and for the first time, completely speechless.

“That’s… really mean, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa almost sobs, and wipes the back of his hand over his face. Hajime can’t really tell how much of his attitude is just an act and what is genuine.

“I… I saw a recording of you”, Hajime says blandly, in loss for a proper response, and feels his chest tighten when Oikawa gives him another doe-eyed look. “Of an interrogation with you and Akaashi. You’ve… he asked you about some homicides, and you were so… different?”

“Iwa-chan…!”, Oikawa says, and wipes his face again. How can someone as pretty as Oikawa be such an ugly crier? “That wasn’t the real me! I’ve said this just…” He glanced upwards, to where the CCTV camera hangs from the ceiling, and approaches Hajime a bit so he doesn’t have to talk so loudly. “You know that Akaashi’s out to declare me as legally sane to condemn me to death! I _had_ to play the insane weirdo!”

_Yeah, Akaashi had mentioned something like this_ Hajime thought. _But_ –

“Please Iwa-chan, you have to believe me that it was just an act!” Oikawa looks hurt like a kid with a bruised knee, but his eyes tell Hajime that he’s serious. “I beg you, I’m telling the truth!”

“You can’t expect me to believe that without scrutinizing”, Hajime says, and grits his teeth when Oikawa looks down to the ground, in loss for an explanation. Hajime has the feeling Oikawa’s seriously hurt, and the words he’d spat onto Oikawa began to gnaw at his conscience. Oikawa fiddles with his fingernails, and Hajime lets out a sigh.

“C’mere”, he says, and beckons Oikawa over with a gesture, and Oikawa sinks into his arms without protesting. He sniffs disgustingly loud next to Hajime’s ear, presses his hands against Hajime’s sides. “I’m sorry”, Hajime mumbles into Oikawa’s fluffy brown hair after a while of silent hugging. “I didn’t wanna yell at you, I’m just… Jesus, this is all so fucked up for me. I don’t know what to believe anymore, and… fuck, I’ve never dated a prisoner. You can’t just stroll into my life and turn everything upside-down like you wish to.”

“We’re… datin’?”, Oikawa answers a bit constricted into Hajime’s shoulder, and hugs him a bit firmer.

“That’s the only thing you’ve heard?”, Hajime mocks, but shows a smirk even though Oikawa can’t see it. “I mean, if you want, we… could. Date, I mean.”

Oikawa backs away a bit, to be able to see into Hajime’s eyes. Oikawa’s pupils are blown wide, dark, and still a bit moist even though he had stopped sniffling a while ago. Does the fact that he’s _actually_ crying mean that his feelings are honest? Or is this just another one of his perfect acts?

“I’d like to”, Oikawa answers with a relieved smile, and wipes away some leftover wetness from his cheeks. “I’d really like to.”

“But you’re aware I can’t take you to the cinemas’n such”, Hajime remarks, and Oikawa lets out a snotty chuckle.

“I’m fine with everything you give me”, he answers, and Hajime pats the back of Oikawa’s head, feels his fluffy brown hair tickling his palm. He leans in a bit, and waits for Oikawa to comply, or to push him away. But a moment later their lips find each others, and fit together for a second, two seconds, testing, before Hajime backs away again. Oikawa looks at him sheepishly, almost embarrassed, before lunging forward once again, pressing their mouths together firmly, tilting his head a bit to the side. Hajime feels Oikawa’s hands roam around his body, around his back and under the seam of Hajime’s work jacket, and the hell Hajime would keep Oikawa off from doing so. His rage is gone, as well as every piece of restraint he’d had, and a moment later he’s kissing Oikawa like he means it, shoves his tongue deep into the other one’s mouth. Oikawa hums, and lets out a soft sigh when Hajime yanks him around so Oikawa’s the one with his back against the row of man-high washing machines. Hajime shrugs his jacket off in a haze, and feels as if his shirt’s soaked in sweat, as hot as he feels. Oikawa’s hands are _everywhere_ , on his neck, in his hair, sliding over his throat, his chest, over the buckle of his belt –

“To – Tooru, stop”, Hajime pants, and rips his lips off of Oikawa, rests his heated forehead in the crook between Oikawa’s neck and shoulder. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“You bet we should!”, Oikawa groans, and tries to nibble at Hajime’s earlobe, a movement that sends a harsh shiver down Hajime’s spine. He’s so fucking turned on that it clouds his senses, and, what’s more important, his reason.

“Tooru, no –“

“Tooru yes”, Oikawa replies sensually, and suddenly palms Hajime’s growing arousal through his pants. Hajime gasps, and is thankful that Oikawa’s not able to see his face right now, all red and hot and with his mouth gaping open in both surprise and arousal. “C’mon, I wanna make you feel good.”

“Kuroo’s probably watchin’ us”, Hajime chokes out, and keeps himself from shuddering viciously when he realizes that Oikawa has already managed to relieve him from his belt.

“Then let’s give him a show”, Oikawa coos into Hajime’s ear with all the grace of an infamous porn star, and a moment later Hajime is the one leaning against the washing machines again, while Oikawa sinks down to his knees in front of him. He’s eyeing Hajime’s clothed erection like it’s a Christmas gift, and Hajime thinks nothing but _fuck this is happening, this is really fucking happening_ when Oikawa places his hot lips against the protruding, throbbing piece of flesh. Hajime doesn’t know what to do with his shivering hands, tries to grab anything behind to not grab Oikawa by his hair, but a moment later he does so anyways, when Oikawa tips his tongue out to get a taste of Hajime’s precum-stained underwear.

“You – you don’t have to do this”, Hajime pants gracelessly, and ignores the pain in the back of his head when it bangs against the washing machines. He clenches his eyes shut, and opens them again, sends a quick prayer to the heavens, nothing but _Tooru, Tooru_ in his head. It takes Oikawa only another second (and a bit of awkward shuffling on Hajime’s side) to push Hajime’s pants and underwear further down, and then Oikawa is face-to-face with Hajime’s leaking erection, so much hard and wet that it’s almost embarrassing.

“Relax, Iwa-chan”, Oikawa hums, and takes the base of Hajime’s cock into one hand, and Hajime’s inclined to ask how he’s supposed to be _fucking_ relaxed in a situation like this, with Oikawa’s mouth just a horse’s hair away from Hajime’s waiting cock.

“You don’t have to…”, Hajime pants again, though it’s an empty phrase, and he guesses Oikawa knows that when he goes down on Hajime like an expert, takes him in all the way and swallows before releasing him again.

“But I want to”, Oikawa says, his cheeks red and eyes wet, and Hajime can’t do nothing but think he’s fucking beautiful like this, all eager for pleasuring Hajime without getting anything in return. If this would be any other kind of situation Hajime would be inclined to think he’s taking advantage of Oikawa, but right now it seems as if his brain is sucked straight out of his cock by the gorgeous brunet in front of him, slowly bobbing his head up and down Hajime’s length. Oikawa swirls his tongue around Hajime’s cock, teases the tip before he sinks down on him again, with Hajime’s cock pressing against the back of Oikawa’s throat in a way that makes Hajime believe he’s on the brink of dying from a heart attack. Having telephone sex with Oikawa is _nothing_ compared to what’s going on now, and Hajime has to clench his teeth together to keep himself from groaning out loud.

Sometimes, Hajime remembers, when he’d had sex with former partners he had had to chase his high, steadily, like a hunter who stalks his prey, but right now his orgasm is chasing _him_ , approaching him almost at light’s speed. He doesn’t even have the time to question why Oikawa’s so fucking good at this when he feels his peek coming closer, boiling up in his body like a violent tide. He grabs Oikawa by the hair, tries to yank him away, but apparently the prisoner’s willing to stay as he is, licks him and hollows his cheeks, and Hajime gasps, lets his fingers glide through Oikawa’s perfect brown locks. In that moment, right now, on the brink of coming undone under Oikawa’s talented treatment, Hajime’s pretty sure that this is no longer just an infatuation. Maybe he should stop believing that there’s any possibility to ever set himself free from Oikawa’s all-encompassing grasp.

Not that he actually _wants_ to.  

Oikawa looks up to him, with his wide-blown puppy eyes, and that’s the final nail in the figurative coffin in which Hajime’s dignity’s apparently carried to the grave later, and Hajime comes with a shuddery groan, his fingers clenching painfully into Oikawa’s hair. He slumps against the washing machines with a muffled _bang_ , boneless, and feels nothing except the blissful state of post-sex relive, and if Oikawa’s inclined to kill him right now, he’s not even remotely willing to deter him from doing so. But, instead of killing, Oikawa stands up, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and places a tender kiss against the corner of Hajime’s mouth a moment later.

“That’s not makin’ anythin’ easier”, Hajime slurs in his post-sex-craze, and cocks a smirk when Oikawa smiles sillily before helping Hajime to dress up again.

“I know”, Oikawa says with his honeyed voice, “But that’s the least I can do for the guy I’m dating.”

Hajime smirks again, and allows Oikawa to kiss him, tenderly, almost chaste, not with much tongue or passion, but with all the sincerity one can lay into a single kiss.

When Hajime comes back to the guards office a while later Kuroo sits on his chair, grinning confidently like he’d just deciphered the fucking Voynich manuscript.  

“Fuck off”, Hajime says, head red like a beet, trying to inconspicuously look down to where Oikawa saunters down the hallway to his cell, with his hands in his pockets, and a smile all over his face.


	18. 219

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I‘m alive!! But I‘m so super busy right now, and I feel so sorry for the awfully long delay (＞人＜;) I can‘t really promise that the next chapters will come sooner, but please stay with me, I‘ll definitely finish this story!   
> Smootches to you all!   
> The raccoon

Mom, yeah, I… but, you know I – ah, no mom…”  
Hajime sighs. There’s a reason he hadn't called his mother for about a month. He loves the woman, sure, but talking with her is tiring, especially when she’s worrying about her only son’s wellbeing.  
“I’m eating enough – yeah, and healthy, mom, but… Mom!”  
The lady stops in her rant, and Hajime’s a bit surprised by his own short-temperedness.   
“You seem a bit on edge recently”, she says, and Hajime hears some faint trickling of water in the background. _Maybe she’s cooking dinner?_ Suddenly he wishes for one of his mother’s delicious home-cooked meals, something to enjoy on a day like this, when his body feels a bit too wired and his soul too satiated simultaneously.   
“No, I’m… I’m fine, ‘kay?”, he sighs out, and flops down onto his couch, sends a cloud of dust flying through the room, illuminated by the low sunset tinting his apartment in a comforting red and orange. “I’m just a bit… ah, work’s stressful.”  
 _It’s not the work that’s stressful_ he thinks, and remembers his most recent meeting with Oikawa, a quick hookup in one of the workstation’s restrooms. There hadn't been a lot time for talking, but it’s not like they were very eager for conversation in the first place. Oikawa’s kisses are _addicting_ , and Hajime already feels a bit too cold without the other one’s immediate vicinity. But meeting Oikawa is a strenuous endeavor, as it is not very common for an inmate and guard to vanish at the same time, not to speak of the multitude of cameras recording their every move. If it weren’t for Kuroo (and the promise to buy him a lifetime supply of beer and pizza) there would be no way the couple could meet at all. _There has to be a room without cameras_ Hajime spaces out, and almost forgets he’s talking to his mother on the phone, his mother who’s already half a second away from dragging her son out of his apartment and back home.   
“I told you it’ll be like this”, she scolds, and Hajime rolls his eyes. “Why do you have to work as a guard, anyways? You’ve had so many possibilities, Hajime, the world –“  
“Please Mom, spare me your ‘why haven’t you gone back to college’ talk, okay? I’m really not in the mood for that.”  
Immediately Hajime regrets talking so harshly with his mother, but her voice is careful, tender when she speaks again.   
“But I’m just worried about your wellbeing, honey”, she says, and Hajime wishes he could erase his last words and direct their conversation into more shallow waters. He’s not one to argue a lot with his mother, but sometimes the woman has got a perfectly geared sensor for calling him during the worst times possible. “Is there anything specific that’s bothering you?”  
 _Yeah a lot_ Hajime thinks, and fumbles a loose feather out of his couches pillow – the colorful one his mother gifted him last Christmas.   
“Yeah there’s…” Hajime sighs, and racks his brain whether it’s even useful to tell her about it – about him. “There’s… this guy, you know – he lived in our old neighborhood, back when I was in grade school, and I… I’ve met him, recently. He’s really bothersome, but…”  
The hell would Hajime tell her that this respective bothersome guy he’s talking about is one of Seijou’s prisoners. His mother would storm to his apartment and drag him out of there by his scalp, and beat some sense into his thick skull until he’d comprehend to not meddle with dubious individuals.   
… Maybe that’s exactly what Hajime needs to keep himself from falling even further for Oikawa. Maybe that’s _exactly_ what he needs to get his fucked-up life back in the right direction.  
Who’s he trying to kid, as if that ship hadn't sailed quite a while ago.   
“What’s his mother’s surname?”, Hajime’s Mother asks, and Hajime feels a sharp pinch of pain running through his chest. “You know I knew half the city back then, maybe she was in my book club, or –“  
“I don’t know”, Hajime murmurs, “I only know his name.” Thinking about it, he scolds himself for even mentioning the guy he wasn’t able to get out of his damn system. For once he’d like to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve entirely around damn Oikawa Tooru.   
“Maybe she’s got the same”, Haijime’s mother guesses.  
“Mom, I – I don’t know if that’s the best idea”, Hajime backpedals, and flicks the feather aside. “Let’s forget it, okay? I –“  
“Ah come on, Hajime”, she retorts, “don’t make a fuss and just tell me his name.”  
“He’s…” Hajime groans. Fuck him for bringing this up in the first place. “Oikawa? He’s about my age, so his mom should –“  
“Oikawa?”, Hajime’s mother repeats, and Hajime’s breath fastens, hearing her say his name so casually, as if it wasn’t the first time she hears it. “Yes, I believe I knew his mother.”  
Hajime takes a forceful, deep breath to keep himself from immediately asking a million questions at once. “From where?”, he eventually decides, trying to keep his itching nerves at bay.   
“Oh she was a nice lady”; Hajime’s mother hums, and some clanging can be heard in the background, nearly drowning out her voice. Hajime’s not sure if she’s actually cooking or pummeling the thieving house cat with her frying pan. “She’d always brought this delicious citrus-filled cream puffs to street festivals, I’ve always wanted her to give me the recipe, but she’d just said it’s a family secret.” She laughs lightly in amusement, and Hajime feels too agitated to keep his feet still. With the phone clenched between his cheek and shoulder he slips on his jacket, steps out on the tiny balcony and tucks a cigarette between his lips, searching his pockets for a working lighter. He breathes the smoke out as silently as possible; after all this years his mother still doesn’t know about his bad habit.   
“And… her son?”, he probes, trying to sound casual.  
“Ah, I’ve met him only once, I believe”, she says, sounding strangely apologetical. “They’ve divorced – his parents, you know, I believe when… you’ve got into middle school? The boy had moved with his father – but his sisters, I tell you! Those were some sweet little –“  
“H-his sisters?”, Hajime blurts out, nearly choking on a bit too much smoke. Hadn't Oikawa told him that he’s an only child? “Did you say his sisters?”  
“Yes, sweet little twins”, his mother remarks, and something inside Hajime feels as if it’s turned around and twists his guts. “I remember their cute brown ponytails, and they’ve always been dressed quite alike.”  
“Mom”, Hajime interrupts sternly, and nearly burns himself with the cigarette’s butt when he shifts the phone to his other ear. “You sure they were his sisters? Not just like, half-sisters, or something like this?”  
“No, no!”, she replies, sounding eager, “They’ve definitely been his sisters. When he and his father moved away they were around six, or seven I believe.”  
“Are you absolutely sure?”, Hajime asks again, and hears his mother puff out a breath.   
“Of course, Hajime”, she replies a tad annoyed, something behind her clanging again. “I’m sure about them. But, there was something else… ah, don’t nail me down on this, but I believe they’ve moved away a few years ago, too. At least I haven’t seen them nor their mother since quite a while, now that I think about it.”  
Hajime almost misses his mother’s last statement, he’s already too much consumed by torturing his mind about what to believe now. Maybe his mother’s making a mistake? Maybe she’s confusing Oikawa’s family for someone else’s?   
But.   
If not, why had Oikawa lied to Hajime? Why had Oikawa told him specifically that he’s an only child? Why not tell him about siblings? Had had his parents parted in especially bad terms?   
And why’s a fact like denying your siblings such a big matter for Hajime, anyways? After all, Oikawa’s a serial killer, so why not a liar, too?   
But then Hajime’s way too much into Oikawa to simply take him for a mere liar. Everyone’s allowed to have secrets, and maybe there’s an even deeper story as to why Oikawa’s not telling Hajime about his siblings. Cute, brown-haired siblings, with bobbing ponytails and a smile that resembles their brother’s.   
“Is everything all right, honey?”, Hajime’s mother asks, and he realizes that he hasn’t answered for quite a while now. “Is something bothering you?”  
“Ah, no”, he says hastily, “I’ve just remembered to do something. Can I call you later?”  
“Of course”, she says, and Hajime bids her farewell quickly to not let her pry too much about his sudden silence. The woman’s way too perceptive for her own good.  
Hajime flips his half-smoked cigarette down onto the street, not bothering with disposing it into the ashtray, his mind too flooded with thoughts about Oikawa, and the twin sisters he apparently has.   
_Maybe I should just ask him about them_ , Hajime wonders, spontaneously deciding to change into his sweats to go for a jog – surely something he hadn't done in ages, but with his muscles and tendons tensed like this there’s no use to believe he can just go to bed and sleep easily.   
_Maybe I should just ask him._  
 _But where’s the proof he’s not just lying to me, again?_


End file.
